Ron El Greco
by Solstice Muse
Summary: Ron Weasley is a happily married man,new father,Diplomatic Auror. This is a story about global wizarding politics,love,friendship,murder,corruption and the breaking point of a good man. Mostly it's about Hermione putting her good man back together again.
1. Chapter 1

_This was for the donation to charity of $25 made by queenb23. All she asked was for Ron/Hermione from me._

_I'd just seen King Lear at the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford Upon Avon and was very caught up with a troubled skinny hero in a loincloth and it turned into a fic about global wizarding politics!_

_There is an uncensored version on Live Journal if you are naughty. Otherwise here's a dozen chapters (give or take after editing) of Ron the married man, new father, and Diplomatic Auror._

**Ron El Greco**

In 2007 Auror Ronald Weasley put himself forward for promotion to be the Foreign Minister for wizarding relations. He contested the way the Overseas Ministries turned the other cheek to the corrupt ways of their Auror departments. He was going to clean up the justice systems where he could and expose dictatorships so at least the helpless could see that there would be somebody willing to fight for them if they tried to overthrow their oppressors.

It was all very Harry of him.

But he wasn't doing it to be a hero. He wasn't doing it for a sense of personal justice. He wasn't doing it because he was the only one who could.

Ron Weasley stood against them because they'd screwed him over and, in turn, turned a blind eye to rape, torture and false imprisonment.

He didn't get the promotion. An old boy with a bulbous red nose stayed in the job he only appeared to do. A bottle of Firewhiskey a day, a bottle he didn't pay for, and a nodding head. The Minister stepped in and step back when politics dictated it.

His wife, Hermione, wrote a memoir of her time with him during the work he did leading up to his failure to change the world for the better. This story is a version of that memoir.

Ron Weasley was a great Auror, a fair minded man, and braver than he was naive. He was sent to Crete to act as Ambassador, pregnant wife towing along as her maternity leave had forced her to stop working in the magical law department anyway, and they had spent six months living amongst the most cultured and classically trained witches and wizards in the world. Hermione loved submerging herself in the history of the place. Muggle philosophers one day, magical anthropologists the next, and a baby the voluptuous housekeeper called Rhoda. To Ron and Hermione she was Rose.

Greece was the best time in their lives.

The transfer to Madrid was deemed a promotion but it didn't feel that way after falling for the first placement so very hard. Madrid was lovely. They too doted on Rose and stimulated Hermione's intellect, but they didn't seem to think that Ron's job was anything other than a ceremonial one. If there was a reception to honour the Spanish Minister for Magic, Ron would be there and everybody would want to shake his hand.

It was when Kingsley sent word that a Scottish Auror had gone missing in Andalucía, and Ron tried to ask some simple questions to the Auror department about how to get a team together to look for him, that he realised that he wasn't anything but a mascot of Britain to them. He may as well have been a waxwork to show what a representative of the British Ministry looked like.

He was shut out, information kept from him, and he was warned off in a particularly forceful manner simply for travelling to Andalucía to meet up with the local wizarding community.

They kept referring to him having come from Greece. He was constantly reminded that 'this is not like Greece, we don't do things like that'. It was as if Greece was his oldest brother, Bill, much admired, the first and the cleverest for so long, and so knowledgeable in the ancient magic, while Spain was another brother, Percy. Percy was even more intelligent, he was diligent and thorough and overshadowed by siblings who garnered more praise before younger ones came along and seemed to absorb the rest of the admiration.

A little resentment, but a loving, brotherly resentment.

Spain had a point to prove. Spain didn't need to be told how Crete was brilliant and how the Greek Ministry did things. The Spanish Minister for Magic even nicknamed Ron. He was Ron El Greco, Ron the Greek, and after standing up to the Spanish Ministry and finding the missing Auror he was reassigned within the day.

They had been there for six weeks and now they were packing again.

"I'm sorry."

He'd sighed his apology as he wrestled Rose's collapsible buggy into it's folded position.

"Don't apologise for being a husband I can be proud of," Hermione said as she cleaned up Rose's pink bottom.

"Yeah but it's not fair to move you twice so soon, not with a new baby."

"The baby doesn't know where she is and the nappies will need changing wherever we go." Hermione squeezed the bottle of baby powder and a little white cloud billowed up and hit Ron in the face.

He sputtered and waved his hands before him, while Hermione laughed and then puffed some powder onto the baby's bottom.

"She'll know if her daddy's proud of his day's work and if he's frustrated at just being a meeter and greeter for some stuck up politician's parties.

Ron ruffled his hair, sending the white powder floating to the floor between them, and Hermione reached over to wipe a smear of it from his cheek.

"See what you girls do to me? I'm getting white hair!"

"You look very distinguished."

"Maybe if I developed a drinking problem or started taking bribes, maybe then they'd let me play with their soldiers."

Hermione gave him a look, then set about putting a fresh nappy on Rose.

"Okay, I'm aware that sounded strange."

Hermione finished up with Rose and picked her up, smiling widely, and then handed her to her father.

"Hello, do I get you all clean? Do I get a sweet on the nosey little Rosie?"

"You know how I feel about baby talk," Hermione warned.

"Mummy's just jealous because I don't tell her she smells nice anymore," Ron said to his baby daughter, "but she doesn't. No, she doesn't does she? No. She smells like Rosie bum-bum all the time!"

Hermione swatted him with the baby changing bag and then stuffed it into a larger baby maintenance bag.

"Daddy can change you the next few times and I'll smell like daises."

"I'm not scared of my Rosie's Technicolor poo-poo, no I'm not."

Hermione looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Not any more," he added.

Hermione smirked.

They left Spain with Rose in Ron's arms right until they Apparated across the border. If he was holding his baby the Aurors, ordered to be threatening and ensure that he knew he wasn't welcome back, would simply watch them go rather than be as intimidating as ordered. He and Hermione both knew this was the reason he had been handed their daughter.

They had found themselves in less enlightened countries before, places where Muggleborn/Pureblood marriages were legal but persecuted. Muggleborns weren't allowed positions of power and weren't granted Apparition licences. Ron would always hand the baby to her if he suspected somebody was about to take issue with her blood status and no confrontation would happen. Hermione would be given a wide berth but that would be it.

A half blood baby had more rights than its Muggle born mother. If Hermione cradled the child she could travel at Ron's side with nothing more than disapproving frowns.

"Nakhichevan."

"Bless you."

Hermione elbowed Ron in the ribs and he gave her a 'I'm holding the bloody baby, woman' look. Kingsley chuckled and took Rose from Ron's arms.

"Hello young Weasley girl. Don't you have big brown eyes?"

"See the hair on it? She's a clone of her mother," Ron beamed.

Hermione moved towards Ron and he shied away, expecting to be slapped, and she slid her arms around his waist and slipped into the space at his side.

"I've seen your baby pictures, she turns into you when she's laughing."

The proud parents watched as Kingsley tried to get Rose to laugh. It wasn't hard, even Ron laughed at the faces Kingsley was pulling. It was amazing how such a figure of authority, with the potential to be so physically threatening, could let himself go to such a degree he appeared to turn into a large teddy bear.

"Are you a metamorphmagus? Can you turn into your daddy?"

"She's got his appetite."

"Nothing wrong with a girl who can eat." Ron shrugged.

"Nakhichevan is where you're going next," Kingsley said as he looked down at Rose's face. "Is her hair getting lighter?"

"Yes, she's going to be auburn I think." Hermione slipped away from Ron's side to take the baby back, looking at Kingsley with curiosity.

"Where's Nakhichevan?" Ron said, bluntly.

"From a Muggle point of view," Kingsley said as he looked to Hermione, "it's a landlocked exclave of Azerbaijan."

"Azerbaijan?" Hermione repeated. "We have a baby."

Ron looked from one to the other and then cleared his throat.

"So what is it from a wizard's point of view?"

Hermione looked at him and for a moment he thought she was going to tell him she wouldn't go with him.

"Ron, it's next to Iran."

Ron knew about Iran. Hermione's parents talked about it when they were discussing Muggle news. Muggles were getting themselves into all sorts of trouble and he never really followed it all but he could tell that Muggle warzones and terrorist hotspots weren't the place for a baby or her mother.

"You should get a flat in London," Ron was saying before he understood what his next job really was.

"I'm going with you."

"But, Rose..."

"Rose is staying with us. This is safe or Kingsley wouldn't send us, right?"

"It's safe for wizards." Kingsley nodded. "Stay in our world with our people and you'll be fine. I promise you, Ron, I would never allow your wife and child to go there otherwise."

"So, okay, what is it to us then? Why am I needed if it's part of another country?"

"Muggle politics are too complicated and totally irrelevant right now. It is a stand alone country in wizarding terms. It's the first city Noah built after the flood."

"Noah?" Hermione, the atheist, said with scepticism.

"He was a wizard in the olden days," Ron mumbled, as if she had simply repeated the name because it was a person she hadn't heard of.

"He's the same Noah as in the Bible?"

"The Old Testement," Kingsley nodded.

"So...the Old Testement is all...true?"

"Hogwarts, a History doesn't literally have the full history of Hogwarts does it?" Ron said with a smile.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Yes, me and Kingsley are descended from the exact same two white people from Eden," Ron said as he rolled his eyes.

"Noah is real though?"

"Noah is...complicated," Kingsley began, "it's like how Christianity took the pagan festivals and celebrated their religious festivals at the same time. Things can overlap."

"So Noah was a Pagan?" Hermione tried to understand.

Ron and Kingsley laughed.

"Well tell me!"

"Too much to know and nobody knows everything, you and Percy included," Ron said before looking back to the Minister for Magic. "Nakhichevan, Noah city, whatever it is, why am I going there?"

"Semi desert, some mountains, some verdant areas around the mountains and a river forming a border with Iran, Nakhichevan City is the capital, where you're staying."

"Why are we needed?"

"You, you're needed," Hermione pointed out.

"Why is British representation needed?" Ron said with a huff. Hermione smiled into the top of Rose's head. She loved it when Ron spoke above, what he believed to be, his station.

"Ilandag, it's a mountain visible from Nakhichevan City."

"Dragons?"

"Not the issue, but yes. Ilandag translates to 'Snake Mountain'."

Snake, that one word said it all.

"But you said this wasn't dangerous for wizards," Hermione blurted.

"It's not. It's just a reason we have to have a person there. No Death Eaters, no attacks, no plots. There's also no point in being negligent and not bothering to send a representative."

"How will they be about mixed blood marriages?"

"Hermione should be fine. Muggles aren't even approached to join wizarding society in Nakhichevan. Squibs aren't shunned, it's just one of those things to them."

"So I'll be okay because?"

"They'll see you as one of them. You have a wand and you can use it. Muggleborns there never know what they are and never learn to master their emerging powers. To the locals you are a witch, no Muggle about it."

"I'm not sure if I like that attitude."

"But you're gonna lump it," Ron said, firmly.

When Ron put his foot down about her idealised views on things she knew he was probably right. The Muggles weren't people who would want a Western woman marching around asking about people who behaved strangely. She'd end up getting Muggleborns lynched.

"So, you have a folder here, some settling in things in this bag," Kingsley held the folder and the bag to Ron, who took them and then put one into the other, "and travelling papers so they won't turn you away at their Apparition point. You have a secure Floo connection with permission to make International calls."

"Permission?"

"Only officials can Floo call over the border. They have strong restrictions."

"Right," Ron said as he dropped the travelling papers into the bag as well.

"Your contact's name is Jalil Araz, you'll need to stay out of the sun, and don't drink from the springs."

"Why?"

"Just don't." Kingsley patted him on the arm.

"You send me to all these hot countries and then go on about me getting sunstroke," Ron said as he rummaged in the bag, finding the inevitable bottle of Muggle sunblock.

"Get better at the sun protection charms then!" Kingsley said before offering his hand to Ron. They shook on the new assignment and Kingsley gave Hermione a loose hug around Rose's tiny body.

"No Harry?" Ron mentioned, as casually as he could.

"This was supposed to be his job," Kingsley said with a wince, "his kids have Troll Mumps and Harry's never had it. His can't lift his own head at the moment."

"I haven't had that," Ron said with a sigh.

"And neither has your daughter. He said to tell you to Floo call in two weeks. You can still catch it through the flames while he's contagious so play it safe."

"Tell him I asked after him. He'll get the hump if he thinks I didn't miss him."

"The hump and the mumps, he'll never be able to get out of bed again!"

They laughed and the family made their way to the International Portkey. Ron took Rose, he had learned to land on his feet, and they prepared to leave for their new home.

"This is the last one, Ron, I promise. I've told them you can't be bounced around any more. Next stop after this...home!"

Hermione gave a smile and a wave and Kingsley disappeared with a pop.

Nakhichevan looked like a sepia photograph. Rocks and desert and rocks and sand and rocks and dirt and some rocks sprinkled on top. Then some dust, a lot of dust.

Neither of them said anything about Greece, but the first look they gave each other as soon as they saw their new home said it all.

They weren't going to love it here.

---

"Ron! We have been invited to Hasmik and Simeon's sheep farm, is a fly zone so we can fly brooms there!"

They were very fond of Jalil, their contact, interpreter, guide and new friend.

"Wow," Ron said after spitting his mouth full of toothpaste into the basin, "the flying, not the sheep farm. I'm not excited about sheep."

"They are breeding sheep, sex sheep, not food sheep, yes?"

Ron glanced at Hermione. Her look made him bite back his comment about having sex with sheep.

"Either way, I grew up in the country so farm animals aren't anything to write home about." Ron began to change into his flying gear while Hermione picked up his boots from where she had put them by the door and carried them over to him. "Hermione, have you seen my flying boo- Oh, ta!"

"Saw them, tripped on them, put them away."

"I'd have done it, I must have been distracted by Rose."

"Don't blame Rose!"

Ron grinned, leaned over and kissed her on the lips.

"You wanna come? We can get Gaik to babysit."

"Gaik won't take money so I won't ask him for anything. We're in a stalemate situation."

"And you don't want to fly."

"And I'm not interested in flying, just as you're not interested in sheep."

"About the sheep," Jalil said as he put an arm around Ron and walked with him towards the front door, apparently conversations about pride had nothing to do with women, "I understand you not interested but, it livelihood of my friends. Farmers so poor in this country."

"Of course, I'll nod along and pretend to be interested in sheep, no problem."

"They will not talk of sheep, I know this, just quiet that you don't care."

"I'd never want to upset your friends, Jal, I swear."

"I know this too," Jalil stepped back, happy for Hermione to overhear them again, "and you are both my friends too. We will fly towards the mountains and to the clear air!"

"Clear air," Ron groaned, "so that's where you're keeping it all."

"Er," Hermione stood in the doorway, looking as if her back had gone as stiff as an ironing board, "not too close though, or high, because I know about air pockets and things over mountains and it might be clear air but it's thin too an-"

"Not flying over them, I swear on Rose's life," Ron said with a reassuring smile.

"You'll burn," she said, still tightly wound.

"Oh shit, yeah, gimme a sec Jal."

Hermione stepped into the bedroom, behind him, and closed the door. She waited for him to turn, curled her fingers around the back of his neck, and pulled him down towards her. She kissed him firmly and turned him around to push him against the door.

"Mmph, well... didn't realise sheep farming turned you on so much!"

She kissed him again and let her hands slide down to squeeze his backside.

"Come home, smelling good and I'll get a babysitter. Fall even a foot off that thing and I'll 'put it away' for you."

"I never find my things if you put them away."

"Exactly."

He bowed his head to kiss her goodbye, she slapped a splodge of sunblock onto his nose, and then he and Jalil left with their brooms over their shoulders.

The two men flew in the crisp, cool air and Ron wished that Hermione could enjoy flying. She was always afraid of accidents and unforeseen circumstances and that if something goes wrong on the ground you at least have a chance but if the same thing were to go wrong in the air it was going to be a whole lot worse.

He tried to point out that things don't have to go wrong at all and that he was a pretty reliable flyer.

"I've never fallen yet have I?"

That, to Hermione, was tempting fate. She could stand Quidditch, lots of people to help and Healers to fix and team mates to rely on, but just flying on his own for relaxation scared her. Nobody would know if he had an accident, nobody would know where he fell and nobody could help him. He was a family man now and he needed to make allowances for her fears. He never flew alone, he never flew in bad weather, and he never went too high.

A fly zone was too good to turn down, though.

For all its faults and total segregation between Muggle and wizarding world, the magical world had created some very impressive magic involving some airspace around the mountains. The same way the Knight bus could physically move about Muggle streets and not be seen, a broom could fly in the fly zone and nobody who wasn't supposed to would ever see.

The job was another empty title, he was a presence and nothing more, but Jalil was so delighted to have somebody to work with that his enthusiasm made the days more tolerable. He would tell them about the past attempts to enter the country without permission just to explore Snake Mountain for whatever power the dark witches and wizards thought it might have hidden away. He'd laugh that the most unstoppable wizard couldn't get in because he couldn't negotiate the red tape. Hermione found this a glorious way of fighting evil and even Ron relished telling the story to Percy during a Floo call home on their mother's birthday.

Jalil had introduced them to his friends, most of whom were in awe of them and thought they must be wealthy beyond their dreams. This was a concept Ron couldn't get his head around and he'd ended up having a 'you think you had it bad, listen to this' competition with Jalil in a pub one night.

Ron had never starved and Jalil had never had a single near death experience so they agreed to call it a tie.

Jalil was almost like a child who had been stuck inside all weekend, finally allowed out to play and even given a friend to play with. Everything was higher, faster, bigger, more with him. He kept telling Ron that he wouldn't tell Hermione if he did a bit of ambitious flying but Ron stayed at a reasonable height and maintained a decent speed while Jalil teased him and flew corkscrews through the air above him.

He took being somebody's dad very seriously, and being Hermione's husband even more so.

"Look Ron, you see the sheep?"

"I see the sheep, Jal, yeah. Great sheep."

They landed and Jalil dismounted at a run to greet his friend Simeon with a two armed back slapping hug.

He spoke in what Ron guessed was Russian to him and Simeon waved behind him towards the house, looking as if now wasn't the best time for a visit.

"Ah, Ron," he smiled at Ron, turned to remind Simeon that they had met, and then looked back to Ron with a pained face, "Hasmik is upset. There is death in the family, her brother."

"Oh right, sorry, tell him I'm sorry."

"He will know, but obviously maybe now should not be time to be here."

"No problem, of course not. But Jal, make sure to tell him I said I was sorry."

"He knows, he knows."

"No but say it for me, yeah?"

Jalil said something to Simeon and he looked stoic.

"Do you want to stay with them, Jal? I can find my way back on my own."

"No!" Jalil snapped and Ron was a little startled. "I must travel with you. You must not fly alone."

Ron was alarmed by Jalil's caution after their trip to the farm.

"You are government official. That you are here now...we must travel together, Ron. Serious rule for now, yes?"

"Yes, if you tell me why."

Jalil looked at Simeon and then back at Ron.

"You can do nothing but Simeon and Hasmik can have trouble because you can talk to powerful people."

"No more than they can. Nobody listens to me. I'm not here to be anything other than a..." Ron had to stop. He had no idea what his role even was.

Hasmik appeared at the door, dressed in black and looking at least ten years older. Ron saw her, looked away and then picked at a non existent splinter on his broom handle.

Simeon said something that sounded like an order for Hasmik to go back inside. When Ron glanced up he saw that she'd gone again. The two men had words and both nodded. Simeon stepped forward and shook Ron's hand.

"We want no trouble."

"I wouldn't..." Ron began to say.

"He know, his English is not good."

"You home to baby. Jalil take you to baby."

"Jal, seriously..."

"Hasmik brother is murdered but nobody supposed to know. Her mother will be arrested if you know. She break law by lifting Ministry spell."

"How do you mean?"

"Ministry arrest Hasmik brother, they sure he do wrong thing. They find no...they find nothing to say he bad man."

"Evidence?"

"This, none. Ministry ask questions, try to prove he bad man."

"Interrogation," Ron said, heart sinking.

"Maybe this, questions and bad things if he give wrong answer."

"Yeah," Ron nodded.

Now he knew why they couldn't let him leave on his own. The Nakhchivan Ministry would have done their research and known their new Foreign Ambassador Auror had been a trouble maker in Spain. Now they were going to know that he had been at the home of the sister of a suspect they appeared to have tried to force a confession out of.

"Is this why you didn't want to pass on any message from me?"

"I..." Jalil looked deflated. "You have talked about it now. Even sorry is talk."

"You're not in trouble now are you?"

"I do my job, no trouble."

"I'm gonna be watched aren't I?"

"This will happen. I will be with you, you do not worry."

"Simeon and Hasmik, are they going to be all right? I didn't bring them trouble did I?"

"No, Simeon mother-in-law, she bring trouble for herself."

"How is this? What did she do?"

"She looked at his body, lifted charm and saw...marks."

"They killed him rather than admit that they arrested the wrong man?"

"No more questions, we must go."

Jalil flew at Ron's speed and altitude all the way back to the city. This, Ron thought, said more than the answers he wasn't being given.

"You do smell good, well done," Hermione said as she smiled against her husband's mouth and then crushed him against the wall, kissing him deeply.

She worried anyway, he decided to say nothing.

---

The banging on the door was enough to make them both jump up but Ron was up and armed and locking Hermione in the bedroom before she'd even pinpointed the direction of the sound that had woken her.

He flung the door open and was already forming the words of the defensive charm when Hasmik threw her hands before her and cowered.

"I sorry, I come for help!"

Ron's heart was beating so hard his legs almost gave out and left him sliding down the wall.

"Get inside," he said as he pulled Hasmik into their home by the elbow.

"Ron!" Hermione was banging on the bedroom door, unable to break an Auror seal around it.

"Shit," he whispered to himself, unsealing the door and letting her out.

"What the hell was that?" Hermione demanded before noticing Hasmik and her wan face. "Oh, I'm sorry, has something happened?"

"Hermione, get Rose from the sitter would you?"

"Why? It's...It's barely six o'clock."

"Get Rose please."

Hermione looked at him for a moment and then left in just her dressing gown and slippers.

Hasmik started crying. Ron guided her through to the living room and sat her down.

"Do you want me to get Jalil?"

She shook her head.

"You...You help."

"Yeah," Ron felt his heart sink as he said it, "let me send my family away and I'll help you okay?"

She nodded.

"Is Simeon with you?"

Her head shook.

"Are you in trouble for talking to me yesterday?"

Again, a shake of the head.

"This is about your brother."

"My mother," Hasmik said, shakily. "Mother...arrest."

"She's been arrested?"

"She look at body."

Ron nodded. She was arrested for exposing the cover up and telling people. The Ministry must know that Ron had been told too.

"Did you try to find Jal?" Ron asked, suddenly.

"I come here."

Ron nodded again, sent a Patronus to Jalil, and hoped he was over-reacting.

"How did you get here?"

"I walk."

This relaxed him, slightly. There was something ironic about people who could create such magic as a fly zone and Floos that won't communicate or transport across borders, yet have nothing to monitor a magical person walking anywhere. Hasmik may as well have been under an invisibility cloak.

"Nobody saw you, stopped you, asked you where you were going?"

"I see no one."

Ron turned to get her a drink. She must have been walking all night.

"Jalil say you have baby girl."

Ron turned to look over his shoulder at her, glass filling from the tap.

"Yeah."

"I no tell Simeon I come. No one. I no bring you trouble."

Ron smiled at her, grateful that she had thought of his family while trying to help hers. He handed her the glass of water and sat across from her on the table.

"Tell me your mother's name."

After the stealth of Hasmik's arrival there wasn't much else that happened afterwards that didn't draw attention to the household. Hermione returned with a screaming Rose, demanding to know what was going on, and then screaming at Ron's insistence that she pack and leave for the Burrow while the International Floos were still active. Jalil arrived and had frantic conversations with his friend's wife in Russian. Ron sent his Patronus out every few minutes, Pig out with papers, and Gaik the House Elf to assure Simeon that his wife was safe.

"Her mother send a photograph of the body with owl. She show you?"

Ron nodded.

"Let me see it," Hermione said, handing Rose to Hasmik and looming over Ron and Jalil.

"Sorry, can't."

Hermione punched her husband in the shoulder.

"I am sick of this patronising, 'send the little woman home for her own protection' bull!"

"You're a mother now, not my wife, not a brilliant witch, not Hermione Granger, you're Rose Weasley's mother and I didn't go looking for this but yet again it's found me and I can't walk away. You can, you are, and you'll bloody well get off my back about it!"

"You're a father."

"That's not as important."

She slapped him, hard.

The room fell silent. Hermione set her jaw stubbornly and challenged him to say another word about sending her away with nothing but a fierce look.

"A father's not as important as a mother. I didn't mean being a dad wasn't important."

"I'm sure you mean well by that but, pardon my language my love, fucking bullshit!"

Ron dragged a hand over his hair and heaved a deep sigh.

"I can't ignore this. She asked for help. Rose doesn't need a dad who walks away when people need help."

"Fair enough, Rose can go to Harry and Ginny while we stay and sort this out."

"No."

"Ron," Hermione began.

"No. No chance. No chance of her being an orphan."

"They won't kill us. This is too political. They'll throw us out of the country...again, but-"

"We can't fight these fights together any more!" Ron's raised voice wasn't the thing that startled Hermione speechless.

A Patronus message broke the tension. The silver stag spoke with Harry's voice.

"Kinglsey can't be seen to know about this, but keep him informed of everything, okay? I'm getting that photo you sent examined by our team. Try not to piss off the Ministry there. Of course we'll take Rose but don't overreact. This isn't like last time. Stay sane, yeah?"

The Patronus vanished before them and Ron looked to Hermione.

"I sent the photo to Harry, that's why you couldn't see it."

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry."

"That's okay too. I'm not leaving."

"Okay then."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Everybody turned to face a lost looking Hasmik.

"Take her home, Jal, we're going to try to talk to somebody about this."

Jalil nodded, took Hasmik's hand and helped her to her feet.

"Ron," Jalil said as Ron stepped towards the fireplace, "go nowhere without me."

"I'm just making a call to the Auror department, doing things properly as if we trust them and think this is an honest mistake."

"There are Aurors who are good and Aurors who are bad. Just talk to the Polkovnik."

"The Polkawot?"

"Polkovnik Auror, he is like Minister of Aurors."

"Chief Auror?"

"Polkovnik."

"Just say it and they'll know," Hermione said as she took the baby back from Hasmik.

"He good man," Hasmik said to Hermione, looking at Ron, as she was led away, "pretty baby," then she turned to say something to Jalil in Russian.

"She want you to know she comes to Ron because she trusts him, knows he is good. She knows why you are angry, you have baby Rose and want husband for yourself."

"No, it's not like that," Hermione interrupted.

"If Ron does nothing, nothing will ever be done."

"I know."

Hermione hugged Rose to her and smiled at Hasmik. Jalil pointed at Ron as he knelt before the green flames, head lost deep within them, and repeated his instruction to Hermione.

"He must not leave here without me, he go nowhere alone."

"I promise," Hermione said with a nod.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

Hermione didn't take the baby and leave. While nobody doubted that the Nakhchivan Ministry were put out about his casual questions and meeting with the Polkovnik, they simply gave the type of spin usually reserved for the media.

Jalil remained firm that Ron never find himself alone outside of the official buildings and Hermione made sure he never let his head drop at his lack of effectiveness in his dead end investigation. The International Floo still worked but Ron always felt sure he could see a fireplace off to one side whenever he was talking to someone. Patronus messages were used for sensitive messages instead.

That was the plan.

"So this is the one of Rose in her sun hat," Ron passed the photos through the green flames and into Harry's hand, "and this one is Hermione holding Rose at an embassy party...in the foyer...because babies aren't allowed but we couldn't get a sitter. This is Rose covered in chocolate at the embassy party when I took her in and dared people to ask me to leave. Oh and this is Rose with Jal watching a dust storm."

Harry laughed at each photo and laughed, shaking his head.

"I never thought I'd see the day."

"What? Us having a baby?"

"No, you boring people with baby photos."

"Excuse me? I'm boring you?"

"Not at all, but all that complaining when I'd bring albums around to show you pictures of James and Lily, I never thought you'd end up doing the same thing to me."

"Four pictures of my daughter at significantly different events isn't the same as a whole album of James sleeping on a Tuesday."

"He wasn't asleep in every one!"

"No, in some he was dribbling."

"He was only a few weeks old, what's your excuse?"

"That only happens when I fall asleep on my front."

"You always fall asleep on your front."

"Ah but Hermione rolls me over."

"Why? You snore on your back."

"She chooses the snoring over the moist pillow."

"Really?"

"You wouldn't?"

"You can really snore, mate."

Ron beamed at this.

"That wasn't a compliment!"

Ron opened his mouth to say something cocky when his mouth gaped and he gasped so sharply that the green flames licked the back of his throat. Harry, threw himself to his knees and crawled right up to the grate.

"What is it? You all right?"

Ro's eyes were bulging and he nodded, unconvincingly, before swallowing and clamping his lolling jaw shut.

"Ron?"

"Fine."

Harry looked down at Ron's knuckles, protruding from the coals beneath, and frowned.

"Not convinced."

"S'fine, shit... I'm gonnafckin_kill_her!"

Harry took a moment to make sense of the jumble of words Ron had just babbled. He almost smiled.

"Would your wife happen to be doing something to put you off?"

Ron's mouth opened and shut, he slammed his hand down on the hearth and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Oh she...she..." he punched the sooty grate again, "Whoa!"

Harry shook his head and sat back in his chair.

"I never copped off with your sister while forcing you to look at my babies."

"Donsaytha-aaaa-aaaa-ah!"

Harry began drumming his fingers on the table and looked away to scan the walls of his homely little kitchen.

"On top of everything else I now get to see your sex face. I don't believe it."

"What's wrong with my sex face?" Ron panted.

"It's really bad!"

At the other end of the Floo call Hermione had unfastened her husband's jeans and yanked them over his hips.

"When she wanks you off like this, does she aim for the fire? I'm not going to have to put a towel down am I?"

"N...Omiguh...omiguh...omiguh...fuck!"

Hermione sank her teeth into one of his round, white buttocks.

"Whatafucshedoin?"

"If anything the eavesdropper's having a hell of a time."

"Oh Gudinverfotadat!" Ron groaned.

Hermione pulled at his hips and Ron clawed at the ash covered hearth on Harry's side.

"I think I gotta go," he said as he slowly sank back into the flames.

"Here, don't forget your photos!" Harry stuffed the pictures into Ron's hand just as he was dragged all the way out of the flames and rolled onto his back on the rug, back in Nakhchivan.

"What are you doing to me woman?" Ron flailed beneath her, photos clutched in his hand.

Hermione lay flat on top of him, plucked the pictures from his hand and broke into a wide smile.

"We got them didn't we?"

"Biting the arse? You never said you'd bite me on the arse!"

"I needed a real reaction, I bet they stopped paying attention to those photos right away."

Ron pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"So, what do we have?"

Hermione looked at the four photographs, not one being of her little girl.

"We've got a passion killer, that's for sure, and we've got proof that Hasmik's brother was tortured to death."

"Your plans are cleverer than my plans," Ron said, flopping onto his back and closing his eyes.

Hermione set the photographs aside and leaned over to kiss him.

"Plus we got Harry back for having sex with Ginny on our sofa."

Ron sat up again and looked at her, seriously.

"Hey, do I have a bad 'sex face'?"

---

Jalil and Ron spent a whole day sitting in waiting rooms. This was a real test for Ron, not the most patient of men at the best of times, and it was only his pig headed determination that kept him from giving up.

They sat in wait for their appointment with the Polkadot Auror, as Ron called him, and their appointment time came and went before the secretary received a memo and told Jalil that they were being referred to the next Auror down. They took the paper, went to the Auror department, and handed over the memo. There was a two hour wait before the Senior Auror stepped out, pulling on his cloak, and bustled past Jalil while muttering something to him in Russian.

"An emergency, we can come to see again tomorrow or wait for him to come back."

"He's not coming back," Ron said as he got to his feet to leave, "you have magical law here. Take me to that department."

"We have no appointment to see them."

"Having an appointment doesn't seem to be helping us so far, does it?"

The magical law people were just people who did filing for Aurors. Ron snorted at the idea of Hermione's work being to pick up after him. They were able to get inside the main office, though, and Ron scanned as much as he could with his eyes before a security Auror escorted them out and told Jalil they were in breech of security.

They returned to see the Nakhchivan Minister and were passed over to his clerk, then his clerk's assistant, and finally the waiting room of the Foreign Minister.

"How do you say, _this isn't a foreign matter to you, you twit, this is happening in your country_, in Russian?"

"I could teach you but it would be waste, he speak Azerbaijani."

"Why does he speak Azerbaijani?"

"That language of this country," Jalil said with a simple shrug.

"So why are you speaking Russian to everyone?"

"I Russian, my friends Russian, politicians Russian."

"But the language is Azerbaijani?"

"Yes."

"Do you speak Azerbaijani?"

"Of course!"

"What?"

"Azerbaijani spoken in Russia too."

"So are you translating in both languages?"

"No, only language person speak."

"Well, yes! I didn't mean t-"

The door to the office opened and the Foreign Minister stepped out to greet them.

"Auror Weasley, you have something to give me?"

"No," Ron said as he shook the man's hand, "I have evidence to show the Auror department about a miscarriage of justice in this country but because I'm not from this country they sent me to you."

"Ahh." The Foreign Minister said, with a nod.

Ron and Jalil looked at each other.

"So could you get the appropriate authorities to talk to me?"

"I don't do this work, not crime and justice, I work with people like you." The Minister smiled.

"No, you don't because you're not working with me now."

"I can make an appointment with Polkovnik Auror for you."

"We have one, he sent us to somebody else who went out."

"He busy man."

Ron held up one of the photographs.

"He dead man."

The Foreign Minister blanched.

"I don't work with this. You go back to Polkovnik."

Ron stuffed the photographs back into his pocket and looked at Jalil for a few seconds, trying to calm his temper by looking at his friend's worried face. If Jalil was concerned then pissing people off with a rant would be bad. Jalil was definitely worried so Ron swallowed his temper.

"Right," Ron looked back to the Foreign Minister, "you don't do investigations or murders or injustice. You just make it okay for people like me to travel around in an ambassadorial role with no power."

"Really, is true." The man nodded, happy to see Ron understanding both their places in the world.

"So I see you for permission to use the fly zone?"

"You already have it, you use one."

Ron looked at the man and waited for him to explain how he knew all his movements so well.

"I meant all the others. Can I fly anywhere within the fly zones?"

"You can, I grant permission," the man bowed, looking pleased with himself. "Enjoy your flying."

"And there's an area at either end of every fly zone I must be allowed to stop for food, drink, sightseeing?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I will allow you to stay at Ministry buildings anywhere you fly to."

"So," Ron said, glancing at Jalil, who looked wide eyed, "while all the Ministers and Aurors are busy me and Jal can fly anywhere and go to the Ministry buildings connected to the fly zones to kill time?"

"Indeed. I give you this," the Minister flicked his wand into a swirling motion and sent a thin shower of magical energy down his body, "and you can pass through spells, not stopped by guards at lodgings."

"I have official permission to travel, great, I was getting a bit bored cooped up all day," Ron smiled. "You will tell the Minister and the Polkovnik that I still need to see them, if you see them before I do, right?"

"I will pass on your urgent message if I see them, of course."

The man left, content that he'd just sent Ron off with his tour guide to fly around the desert and the mountains and sleep in sparse Ministry accommodation well out of the way of the people he wanted to talk to.

"Jal?"

"Yes."

"Is there a fly zone anywhere near the place Hasmik's brother was interrogated?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

"Would you like to go flying?"

"You know, I think I would."

Hermione came out of the bathroom to find her husband stuffing things into a backpack. The tongues of his unlaced flying boots flapped against his shins as he walked back and forth, between the bed and the trunk, gathering his wand holder and his shield charm leather breastplate. It was custom made for him by George, a variation on the shield hat designed to give added protection to Aurors during missions, and Hermione hated it when he felt it necessary to put it on.

"Where are you going?"

"Me and Jal are going flying."

She looked at him. He strapped on his wand holder and stowed his wand securely in it. She continued staring at him. He pulled off his sweaty shirt and set about trying to strap the breast plate on over his rumpled t shirt. She reached out, touched his forearm and forced him to look into her eyes.

"Being careful," he said, before adjusting the shoulder straps with a grunt.

Hermione turned him around and began to thread the laces in and out of the bodice like fastenings at his back and then pulled them tight.

"Deep breath in," she said, waiting for Ron to puff out his chest as far as he could, then yanked as hard as she could and tied a knot, "there, should be fine now."

Ron fidgeted until he felt the protective leather layer sit comfortably against his torso and turned to smile at her.

"It's better when you do it."

"Well, I take your need to breathe into consideration."

Ron laughed.

"Harry's paranoid about it falling off me."

"You're not that skinny."

"I sort of am."

"So crushing your ribs into your lungs is safer than a little gap under each arm?"

"He's the one who does it, don't have a go at me," Ron said, stepping back and raising both hands.

She looked at him again.

"They ignored us, brushed me off and the only person who spoke to me gave me fly zone clearance and an overnight stay in Ministry buildings to make me go away."

"So you're flying with your armour on just to remind people you're a trained Auror and not because you're looking for a fight?"

"I don't look for fights."

"No, you're just very good at finding them."

"We're flying to the place they tortured Hasmik's brother to death, we have permission to stay over at the Ministry building it happened.

"That Minister is a moron," Hermione said in amazement.

"That Minister thinks I'm a Ministry representative. I was wearing my official robes, I looked like a bureaucrat."

"And look at you now," she said with a proud smile, "you're going to show up looking like an Auror."

"I am an Auror."

"In this country you're a guest," she said, with no attempt to conceal her concern.

"And I wasn't treated like one today. You don't invite guests into your family home and then beat your children in front of them."

This was an assignment. The assignment wasn't for Ron to sit in a stuffy, dust filled flat all day and only move around with what can only be described as a bodyguard.

"Jal's always been scared for you here."

"Jal's coming with me."

"Jal's not an Auror. He didn't fight in any battles. He didn't duel on the back of a broom when he was seventeen and live to tell the tale. He's not a war veteran."

"You know what? We had a war because we had something to lose. Jal has this, he has this country and this government and this law enforcement, he can't fight because there's no good side."

Ron looked like he did before leading his team on a dangerous mission. Hermione almost sat down in reverence. He could forget himself sometimes and be who he really was. He was Henry V at Agincourt.

"There are the people doing the bad stuff and the people ignoring the bad stuff, there are no good guys. A crime's been committed, don't find out who did it, just get somebody to confess they did it, crime solved. Somebody's been killed, kill somebody else in their name, justice!"

"Cry God for Harry, England, and Saint George," Hermione muttered to herself.

"Fuck Spain, fuck Greece and fuck home," Ron said, flushing in the cheeks, "because when we leave we're gonna be in a decent place again, but Jal and his friends have to fucking live here."

Rose started crying in the other room. Ron looked towards the sound and his head dropped. He let some of the wind leave his sails and looked up.

"I'm gonna settle her before I go okay?"

Hermione grabbed him and wove her fingers through the firmly laced cords fastening the breastplate to his body.

"Jal's with her, Jal's great with her, and you're going to get back on that high horse again right now because nothing can touch you when you're that passionate."

"You can."

She leaned into his chest and inhaled the smell of the charmed leather breastplate.

"Why are you always so manly when it's inappropriate to throw you down onto the bed and ravish you?"

"I'm always manly," Ron said with a wicked smile.

"Not sexy, manly, like..." Hermione moved her hand up to stroke his unshaven chin, "...Ronald the Great, Ronald the Magnificent, Ronald the Conqueror."

Her hand dragged down the contours of his breast plate and his hands moved underneath her skirt. She lifted a leg and rubbed it up and down the outside of his. He squeezed her buttocks and lifted her up to clamp her thighs around his waist. She nuzzled into the side of his neck and spoke, breathily, between caresses of her lips against his skin.

"And gentlemen in England now-a-bed, shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."

"Wow," Ron said, licking his lips and sitting her atop the chest of drawers so their groins were pressing together.

"That's what I thought when you were speaking," Hermione felt a bulge in her husband's battered leather flying trousers, "I thought wow, I get to sleep with that man."

"Ugh, you fucking tease," Ron growled, throwing back his head and rocking his hips into her body, "I have to go, I have to go, I have to go."

"A quickie, for luck," Hermione began to work at freeing her husband's straining cock, "let me rally your troops."

"I've only got one down there, love."

"Private Parts, Captain Cock, and Gunner Balls."

"Able Semen?" Ron's mouth curled up at the corners.

"Send in the troops!"

...

Ron was slumped against her with his face pressed against her stomach. She patted the side of his head and wondered how other women coped in life without Ron Weasley to have sex with.

"I have to go out now," Ron said, hugging her around the waist and taking into her belly button, sounding as if the idea of doing anything after having an orgasm was beyond him.

"You be careful."

"I have to sit on a broom," Ron said, shaking his head against her belly, "sit on a broom!"

"You could ride side saddle," she smiled.

Ron finally stood upright again and looked at her with a disbelieving smile.

"Why do you have to do this to me and then send me out into the real world all...sexed?"

She laughed at him.

"You've sexed me out. I'm supposed to be going somewhere now. I haven't got a clue what I'm doing."

She hopped off the chest of drawers and fastened his trousers for him, looking up into his dazed face.

"You and Jal are going to ride out there and put right all the wrongs in the world, and you're going to show them all what a good man is made of, and then you're going to come back to me with your head held high."

"Oh right, that, sounds doable." Ron put his hands on his hips and heaved a long sigh. "Okay then, off to poke a stick in a hornet's nest."

"Be careful."

"Will do, I promise," he sighed again and turned to open the door. "I'm gonna have serious trouble sitting on my broom y'know? Really!"

He paused to adjust his trousers and then his equipment therein.

"I'm glad you save that for me and don't do it in public, I'm a very lucky woman," Hermione teased.

"Don't you forget it," Ron said, smirking.

He leaned across, kissed her on the cheek, and then opened the door to tell Jalil it was time to go.

The heat and the dust weren't as bad to fly through at speed when it was past sunset. The air was clearer and Ron could map out the unfamiliar territory beneath him a lot better. He liked that, liked being able to pick out landmarks and memorise bends in roads and rivers. He could roughly sketch out a map when he got back onto the ground. They were flying higher than Hermione would have been comfortable with but they weren't near the mountains so the journey was smooth.

His cloak flapped, ripples travelling across it and snapping away at the hem, behind him as he ducked his head and leaned close to the handle of his broom. He picked out the soft glow of light from a small encampment below.

"Jal," he shouted to his flying companion, "village?"

"Gypsies maybe. Very small group, travelling on ground."

"Muggles or magic?"

"Magical, there repelling charms under fly zone."

Ron made another mental note of the location of the group of witches and wizards. They must be too poor to afford brooms, he thought, otherwise why else creep along the ground beneath a fly zone?

They flew for another ten minutes before a brighter light swelled ahead of them on the ground. They dropped lower and lower until circling the town. There were box shaped buildings surrounding a slightly larger stone one decorated with grey and white mosaic tiles, Jalil told Ron this was the Ministry building. Most of the light was flooding out of a ramshackle wooden building draped with lots of deep red and purple cloth, every window and door covered with beaded curtains and crumpled silks.

"That is where they will all be." Jal pointed to the narrow three storey building, obviously only standing under the power of magic, much like the Burrow.

"All the people of the town?"

"All the people from Ministry," Jal said, "is good time to look around Ministry building."

They landed, Ron's heels gouging deep tracks in the dusty ground, and they pulled up their hoods and made their way towards the darkened Ministry building.

"You have permission, magic should let you through magic wall," Jalil said as he gestured for Ron to try to approach the door.

"What about you?"

Jalil pressed his hand against the crackling force and shook his head.

"Just you," he said, looking unsettled about having to be separated from Ron, "as long as you inside you be safe. Don't leave without me."

"I never would," Ron said before stepping through the barrier and turning the door handle.

A House Elf popped into the space before him and bowed. It said something to him in either Russian or Azerbaijani and Ron looked over his shoulder. Jal looked fuzzy, as if he was viewing him through frosted glass, and Ron turned back to crouch before the elf.

"You speak English?"

The elf shook his head.

"Greek?"

Again the elf wrung his hands and shook his head.

Ron stood up straight again and looked around. He tried to remember any of the words Jalil would use while speaking to people for him, but then he realised he'd never know the difference when he'd been speaking in Russian or Azerbaijani. He slid his hood back down and the elf looked shocked at the colour of his hair. Ron smiled at him and the elf bowed again.

"Stop that," he muttered, inconsequentially, "um... Okay, so how 'bout this. Incarcerous? Where," Ron held his wrists together as if they were bound together, "prisoners...Incarcerous?"

The elf tilted his head to one side and tapped Ron's wrists, ropes wound tightly around them.

"No, no, no ,no, not me! I'm not a prisoner, I need to see the prisoners." Ron gestured to his eyes with his tied hands. "See," he pointed away at invisible people before him, "Incarcerous."

The elf frowned and banished the ropes. Ron raked his fingers through his hair and swore under his breath. Then he remembered he had an enhanced photograph of Hasmik's brother on him and pulled it out of his pocket to show the elf.

"Where?" He said as he pointed at the photograph. "Where this happen?"

The elf looked at the photo and then up at Ron, blinked and then put his bony hand on Ron's shoulder, shaking his head.

"No, I know he's dead, where? Show me."

Ron pointed at the elf, then pointed off around the rest of the building, and tapped the photo again. The elf stared at him blankly. Ron pointed from his eyes, across the reception area, and then down at the photograph.

The elf said something in an unplaceable language before walking off towards a side door. Ron followed him and soon found himself walking down some poorly lit stairs to an underground area. This was probably right, the elf had managed to understand, but he still found it unsettling at the same time.

He drew his wand and held it as casually as he could at his side, feeling his way down the stairs with extra caution. Each step was narrow and he had large feet. When he got to the bottom the elf's eyes were the only thing he could see. There was no way to ask if it was okay to use his wand because of the language barrier so he simply cast a Lumos and directed the beam away from the large eyes before him.

The elf squinted, then blinked and Ron cast the golden light across the holding cells. Half were vacant, the rest contained sleeping wizards beneath dirty sheets. A couple of the men stirred, one cringed. As soon as Ron spotted a pair of swollen eyes peering at him he lowered his wand and moved closer.

"You speak English?"

The man hid under his sheet.

"English anyone? Greek? Spanish? French, I can do a little bit of Fr-"

"Who are you?"

Ron turned to see a skeletal man sitting up in his bed, he looked as if he'd been lashed with a rod.

"I'm from England, I'm a friend of..." Ron realised he couldn't remember what Hasmik's brother's name was. He held out the photo again and illuminated it with his wand. "This man, his sister asked me for help."

"Dead," the prisoner said as he squinted at the photo.

"Yes."

The man shrugged. Ron guessed he was wondering why Ron was asking for him if he knew it was too late.

"Murdered," Ron said, waiting for a reaction but none came, "innocent," again he waited but the man sat back on his bed and stared back at him.

Ron pointed at the photo.

"Wrong."

The man nodded.

"Shit, this is getting me nowhere." Ron sighed as he put the photograph away again. "How do I find out who questioned him, who arrested him, who was with him when he died?"

"Elf," the man said, pointing to the house elf.

"Doesn't speak English."

The prisoner said something to the elf in his native tongue and the elf looked at Ron with suspicion.

"Polkovnik," Ron said. The elf stood to attention and bid for him to follow back up the staircase.

The prisoner who had been speaking to him looked at him with hatred.

"Not me, Polkovnik won't help me, it's the only word I know that might make him show me the truth."

"You let us go," the man said as he got out of his bed.

"I don't have... I can't."

"They do this," the man thrust his arms through the bars and showed Ron the painful looking burns across the underside of his forearms.

"I'm trying to stop them."

"Let us out."

"I can't do that. I'm not in charge. They can arrest me too."

The angry man shouted to some of the others and soon wounds were being displayed by desperate babbling prisoners. The English speaking man turned to show the marks on his back and then barked at Ron.

"If I can find proof the Aurors here are doing this I'll g-"

"This! This proof!" The man shouted at him. He grabbed Ron's wand arm and pointed it down at the raw skin on his arms and then froze.

He cast the light on Ron's arm, the one he was using to pry the desperate fingers loose, and the prisoner lightly touched one of Ron's scars.

Ron felt his arm freed immediately and the man stared at him.

"Like us."

Ron rolled up his sleeve and showed the man the scars snaking up the length of his arms.

"They do this?"

"No, but I got them trying to stop bad people." The prisoner appeared to understand. Ron took a chance. "Polkovnik is a bad man."

The prisoner nodded and shoved Ron towards the stairs, after the elf. He called after them, telling the elf things and when they returned to the reception area the elf pointed to a chair and glared at Ron until he sat in it. As soon as he did there was a pop and he was alone.

"Auror Weasley," a voice made Ron jump out of his seat and a stout man wearing thick, long robes, strode through the main door. "Gulubekov, I in charge here."

Ron shook the man's hand and forced a smile onto his face.

"Hello Mr Gulubekov, I couldn't find anybody here and there was an elf but..."

"Elf says you call yourself Polkovnik. I know Polkovnik."

"No, I was trying to say the Polkovnik sent me to the Foreign Minister and he said I could stay here with my guide, Jalil Araz, he's outside. We went flying and were told we could stay here."

The man, Gulubekov, snapped his fingers over his shoulder and Jal was dragged inside by two burly escorts, bound and gagged, and thrown on his knees before the broad chested man.

"Jal!" Ron drew his wand to free his friend when the escorts turned their wands on him in unison.

Gulubekov raised his hand and shook his head. The escorts backed off.

"This your man?"

"This is my friend," Ron said, trying to contain his anger, "he works for the Ministry. He's one of your people, told to travel with me by the Minister."

Gulubekov grunted and muttered something to the escorts. In an instant Jalil was freed and Ron hurried to him to help him to his feet.

"You all right?"

Jal looked worried and furious as he clambered to his feet and looked Ron up and down, as if expecting him to have been roughed-up.

"You are safe?"

"I'm fine, you?"

Jalil turned on the escorts and began a fierce argument with them in their language. Gulubekov boomed one word, which silenced them all, and then turned to step closer to Ron. Jalil seemed to be uncomfortable with this but his attempt to join them was prevented by a firm hand on his shoulder.

"You need bed for night?"

"It's not too late, we could probably fly back to Nakhchivan City right now," Ron said as he glanced at a clock on the wall.

"Clock is wrong, is late, you stay."

Ron looked to Jalil, who was tense and appeared to want nothing less than to let Ron stay with these people, and then back to the intimidating man.

"We did bring things for an overnight stay, just in case."

Gulubekov's mouth curled upward and he stepped towards Ron and put a muscular arm around his shoulders.

"We bring bags to room. You come with me, we drink."

"Uh..." Jalil was about to call after them.

"Araz?" Gulubekov grunted back at Jalil. "I don't know this name. You stay in brothel."

Jalil was already being wrestled outside when Ron ran after him and stepped between his friend and the heavies.

"Jal's staying with me."

"He no cleared to stay here. I don't know Araz."

"I do," Ron said, firmly.

Jalil pulled at the back of Ron's robe and whispered behind his ear.

"I will wait outside all night. I watch for you to leave. You safe with Ministry, you official."

"But," Ron turned his head a little towards Jalil, keeping his eyes on the strong men.

"Do not argue with them. I be safe." Jalil patted him on the back and stepped towards the door. "Don't ask questions, just be guest."

Ron watched Jalil being followed outside and the doors magically bolting on him. He was alone in the reception area with the master of the house now. He looked at him and forced a smile.

"Come, we drink."


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Something cool and smooth like liquid slithered across his skin. Ron flinched, then tried to sit up, and the cold sensation moved lower across his body as he realised he was lying on his stomach. He rolled over, the satin sheet slunk off him and pooled in a crimson puddle on the floor, and he saw that he was lying naked on a bed in a room swathed in dark red and purple fabric.

He felt as if he had a hangover without the sickness or the sore head, just a general dizziness and loss of time and place. A woman walked in, wearing very little, and he threw himself over the side of the bed with a thud and clutched the thin layer of crimson fabric to his groin before standing.

"Is good morning, sir." The woman smiled, bowed and carried a tray of fresh fruit and a steaming pot of some kind of hot liquid toward the bed.

"I'm not dressed," he said, stupidly.

"I know, I undress you," she smiled.

"What?"

"I undress you, Melehet put you into bed, Somaz give you massage."

"_What?_"

"Massage," the woman mimed massage with her hands, "your body scarred all over. We use oils and massage."

"Why? Who asked you t... Why?"

"You from Ministry, yes?"

"This is the Ministry."

"No," she laughed, "Ministry big building of stone outside. Ministry men come to us, we...massage."

"Oh my stars," Ron wrapped the sheet around his waist and sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, "please tell me message isn't a euphemism."

"You no worry, when you no want to have _real_ massage, they give you to me to look after. I virgin."

"Wha...Whoa...Wh...I didn't, I didn't have sex with you. I couldn't have had sex with you."

"No, I still a virgin," she said with a giggle. "Ministry men want sex and we think you like them but you... say no. You virgin too?"

Ron laughed, then felt sick.

"Wait, this isn't the Ministry building? I was in the Ministry building, with clothes on."

"Your friends brought you for _massage_. You very drunk."

"Oh my God," Ron groaned, rubbing his temples before jolting back to his senses again. "You have my stuff?"

"We have clothes."

"My bag? My backpack?"

"No, it was just you."

Ron knew he'd been spiked. He was taken to the brothel so he could be blackmailed maybe, exposed as immoral, he didn't know. He was also taken away from his property so they could go through it. He had no evidence on him, apart from the photo he took along. He rose up from the bed and scanned the floor.

"Where are my clothes?"

"I will bring."

"There was a photograph, I had a photograph in the pocket, was it still there?"

The woman blinked.

"Is there a photograph in my pocket?" Ron yelled.

The woman squeaked and ran away. Ron swore and tripped over a cushion on the floor as he flung himself at one of the covered windows. He peered outside, the sun was bright, the dust was thick and Jalil was still sitting outside the Ministry, focused on the doors.

"He didn't see me leave." Ron muttered to himself.

He raised his hand to knock on the window and get Jalil's attention when the door to the Ministry building opened and Gulubekov and the Nakhchivan Minister for Magic stepped out with big smiles on their faces. They looked across at the building he was in and Ron threw himself away from the window and against the wall.

"Oh shit."

He could hear laughing, then Jalil's voice saying something in another language, and then what had to be the sound of Jalil being struck by one of the security escorts. He couldn't look. What if part of the plan was for him to expose himself as being inside the brothel.

He slid down the wall and wished he could either be a coward, and never have bothered trying to help, or be brave enough to fling the curtains wide and shout their crimes to the rooftops without caring about what might happen to him or his reputation.

He wasn't brave enough or cowardly enough. Yet again he was just average enough to fail.

He wondered if they were going to get to Hermione before he could. He wondered if Hermione would believe them. She probably wouldn't believe a single word of it...and then believe it all when he confessed the parts of it that were true.

At least three women, in a brothel, with him naked.

He might just be coward enough after all, he burst into tears.

"Here your clothes... Oh." the woman was back and she froze at the sight of him snivelling.

"Thank you," Ron said, roughly wiping his face and grabbing his clothes from her hands. He began to root through the pockets.

"I look, there nothing."

Ron sighed and his shoulders slumped. He had three others but that wasn't the point. They had proof that he had proof of corruption and injustice in their Auror department. They knew for a fact what he had on them. They also had proof that Hasmik's mother had broken their rules and gone to him for help. Maybe this would get Hasmik and Simeon arrested too.

"I promise," the woman said as she poured him a hot cup of whatever was steaming in the pot, "you do nothing to be ashamed. We both have our virginity, we can still be proud."

"I'm not..." Ron shook his head and pulled his tatty t shirt down over his chest. "Your English is very good."

"We have English speaking men come here all time. This is my work. I don't _massage_ so I find out what English want."

Ron fastened his trousers and then dropped onto the bed again.

"Those men not friends?"

"No," Ron said with a weary shake of the head.

"You drugged?"

"I don't know."

"Drink, this no drugs."

He took the hot drink from her and thought about how offensive it would be to ask for sugar before tasting it. Instead he asked her a question.

"What's your name?"

"Zaliha," she smiled and picked his boots up from the floor, carried them around the bed towards him and placed them beside his feet.

"Thank you Zaliha. I'm Ron."

"I know, they told us, you Ron Weasley and we are to tell everybody your name and that you were here."

Ron groaned.

"We say nothing. Nobody listen to us anyway. They no come here to talk."

Ron found himself laughing.

"I will get good job when my English is better. I no work here like other girls."

"Good for you," Ron mumbled. "Hey Saliha?"

"Zaliha."

"Zaliha, sorry, um is there a way out of here that doesn't involve anybody seeing you?"

"Pop!" She took out her wand and mimed Disapparition.

"My wand, yes my wand would be handy, I bet that's with my stuff across the road."

"Or you just use passageway like other Ministers," Zaliha said with a shrug.

"Excuse me?"

"That how friends, not friends, brought you in. Carry you through passageway under ground."

Ron pushed his feet into his boots and got Zaliha to show him the way to the secret underground passage.

Back in the room he didn't spend the night, Ron emptied his clearly tampered with backpack and found his wand. He performed the spell to see what the last spell used was and saw his own _Lumos _ghosting the tip of the wand. He slotted it into the holder strapped to him and found nothing other than the spare clothes he'd taken with him.

He lit a fire in the hearth and threw the backpack, contents and all, into the flames. He couldn't trust them not to have planted anything on him or cursed any of his things. He watched the pack burn and then left.

Nobody was anywhere to be seen, they were probably all standing outside waiting for him to stagger out of the front door of the brothel, and he let himself out to find nobody but the pair of goons who had been roughing Jalil up. They were still harassing him, even now, and Ron approached from behind and tapped one on the back of the neck with a stinging hex.

"Are you two Aurors?" He demanded of them.

The stung escort turned on Ron with his wand drawn. Ron disarmed him like the pro he was.

"I said are either of you two Aurors?" Ron said, puffing himself up.

"Ron," Jalil looked relieved to see him again, "they say you go alone but I know you n-"

"I'm an Auror and you pair are nothing so back the fuck off my friend and don't ever point your stupid splinter ridden sticks at me again!"

Ron kicked the wand that had fallen at his feet away.

"Jal, my broom."

"I have it."

"Still got yours?"

"I do."

"Good, we're going."

Jalil grabbed Ron by the front of his cloak and looked up into his face.

"They did something, what was done to you?"

Ron put his hand on Jalil's shoulder and squeezed it.

"Politics, they didn't hurt me, they just killed my moral credibility. We need to go back to the city, Jal. They know I'm after them and I need to get to my wife."

"I will get you home, safe," Jalil vowed with a firm nod.

Ron shook his head.

"You need to go to Hasmik and Simeon. They took the photo Harry got enhanced for me. They know the mother lifted the concealment charm and they arrested her for that. They're gonna know how the photo got taken, how I got it, they're gonna go after them and you have to-"

"I have to warn them," Jalil said, mortified.

"We fly our separate ways," Ron said as he fidgeted in his shield breastplate, he never could fasten it as well as Hermione, "hopefully they'll follow me rather than you."

"No," Jalil said as he gripped Ron's cloak harder, "I tell you, never travel without me."

"We have to split up, I can't warn them because they've got my number but you can slip away an-"

"I protect you! Is my job!"

"You're a civilian and I'm an Auror and this is _my_ job."

"But..."

"Go to your friends, Jal!" Ron shouted as he threw off Jalil's hands. "That's an order."

"You my friend!"

Ron took his broom, mounted it and kicked off from the ground. Jalil still wasn't ready and by the time he'd picked up his broom, climbed on and taken off, Ron was too far ahead and accelerating away.

Hermione sent Patronus after Patronus out until her head ached. A small parcel of valuables, her journal on everything that had happened so far, and copies of every scrap of evidence they had gathered were sent to Harry via Pig and a visiting owl. Both creatures were ordered not to come back to Nakhchivan for their own welfare and the risk of anything they carried being intercepted. She'd started as soon as the Foreign Minister left and she'd found that their Floo had been cut off all together.

She'd come to the conclusion that if the fireplace was now useless as a communication device she may as well throw in everything that could be used to spy on them. It was hot outside but like a furnace indoors. She wiped her brow with her forearm and then cast _Muffliato_ over every door and window. She knew that some kind of stealth magic was destroyed when she hurled a bundle of clutter from the dresser near the front door into the flames as something escaped with a scream before vaporising.

The Foreign Minister's aide had waited at the door, he must have planted it, maybe it had been there all along. Just as she was throwing out all the food that had been delivered that morning, she heard Rose crying in the bedroom and ran through to see if it was a simple disgruntled infant or genuine distress from her daughter. Apart from the fact that she was very hot and uncomfortable, Rose had a full nappy. Hermione hurriedly removed her dirty nappy, banished it, and then cast several investigative spells on the nappy bag in the bathroom.

She couldn't quite believe it could have been interfered with, but if she had thought to check it they could have thought to tamper with it. Rose grizzled louder and Hermione convinced herself that the nappy bag was clean, pulled a fresh one out and turned to run back to the bedroom.

Rose stopped crying and Hermione closed the living room door to keep out some of the heat from the blazing fire before stepping into the bedroom to see to her daughter's sore bottom.

"Sorry, sweetheart, mummy just needed to make su-"

Hermione froze. Rose had stopped crying for a damn good reason. Her daddy was rocking her in his arms.

"Ron!" Hermione clung to him and simultaneously felt his body all over for signs of injury.

"It's really me," he said, wearily.

"I know that," she said, voice quaking, "Rose stopped crying, you can't fake that effect." She ripped off his cloak and then wrestled to unlace the breastplate. "I have to make sure you're okay."

"I am."

"I have to see."

"Hermione, I am."

"Shut up and let me see!" She convinced herself that his body was intact and then cupped his face with both hands and looked up into his face. "Oh God, they did something."

"Hermione," Ron began, "I have to tell you something."

"They've been here already," she said, "and I don't care what their smug little men told me, and I don't care if what you have to tell me is even vaguely similar, I know you didn't do anything wrong."

"But I want you to know," he said, "I don't want them to think they're forcing lies between us."

"You didn't do what they said you did, that's all I need to know."

"Listen to me, though."

"They cut off our Floo and left something in the draw by the door and I've kept the doors and windows from being used for eavesdropping."

"I was naked in a brothel with at least three women and I know I didn't do anything but I don't know that because I remember." Ron blurted.

"I know it too. Do you know what else I know?"

Ron looked as if he dreaded what his wife might have to say to him.

"What?"

"I know that was the best they could do," she almost smiled as she said it, "that, was the worst thing they could implicate you with. How desperate are they?"

Then she laughed, kind of manically but she laughed.

"I don't quite..."

"These people pluck random men and women off the streets and torture them into confessing whatever unsolved crime is at the top of their list, they kill people for not admitting to things they didn't do, they are corrupt to their bone marrow, and you... They had to scrape the bottom of the barrel to find something on you and all they could come up with was making it _look_ like you use prostitutes. That was it. You've got them on the back foot. You're honest, they know you're honest, and they're _terrified_ of it."

"These are not people I want to scare," Ron said as he set Rose down in her cot and then sat on the bed, clasping his hands in front of him.

"They can't get to you the way they get to everybody else, you've got diplomatic immunity," Hermione said as she sat beside him and took his hands in hers.

He looked at her, not comforted in the least.

"That's not comforting, because that means they're planning something special for me."

"Politics, Ron, this isn't war. This is politics. We can win this game."

She kissed him on the cheek and rubbed her hand up and down his arm.

"Didn't you have a backpack?"

"I burnt it, they've made me paranoid."

She gave a soft chuckle.

"I burnt everything, even the groceries, great minds think alike eh?"

He leaned over and rested his head against hers. She was still holding the fresh nappy in one hand. He slid it from her grip.

"I'll finish Rose off."

"Okay."

They sat together for a little while longer.

"Ron, where's Jal?"

"If he knows what's good for him, he's hiding."

---

It was exactly eight o'clock the following morning when Jalil arrived for work.

"You idiot," Ron said as he checked it really was him with a few spells, then let him in.

"Not true, I safer as Ministry employee than ordinary man in desert."

"Maybe."

"And you help my friends. Nobody in Ministry care about them. Nobody in Ministry care about you either. I keep you safe."

"It's my job to take care of myself."

"Is my job to be with you."

"We can't keep having this conversation, Jal."

"I agree," Jalil nodded, "you shut up."

Ron sputtered on his shocked laughter and Hermione grinned as she leaned against the doorframe.

"That told you."

"Look, Jal, I have a plan for today. They're probably expecting me to either run or do something kamikaze so I'm taking them on at their own game."

"What is kamikaze?" Jalil frowned.

"What's the plan?" Hermione said, stepping towards him and looking up into his face in apprehension.

"Politics," Ron said, simply.

"Kamikaze is politics?" Jalil's brow furrowed even deeper.

"Some might say," Ron shrugged.

Hermione watched as Ron dressed in his finest robes, and then tried to get the smell off smoke out of them, while drumming her fingers on the bedpost.

"I never know if I should do my hair," Ron said as he stooped in front of the mirror to straighten his thin black tie, "I always look a bit of a prat when it's all combed down don't I? Percy doesn't have this problem, his hair's all corrugated."

"Stop pointing that thing at me and turn around," Hermione said, firmly.

"What thing?" Ron looked over his shoulder and realised that his backside was presenting itself right in front of her face. "A full length mirror would help."

"I don't like them and we're not vain."

"It's not vanity to want to make yourself look presentable without having to squat," Ron huffed.

"Harry and Ginny's house has a mirror in every room and it makes me feel so self conscious. All you had at the Burrow was one mirror in the bathroom and one in your parents' bedroom. That's why it was such a nice environment."

"Ginny had a mirror too," Ron mumbled as he half heartedly attempted to make his hair appear formerly dressed without looking Malfoy-ish.

"Girls are supposed to have a mirror."

Ron turned around and looked at her in astonishment.

"I'm sorry, did my wife just say something sexist?"

"Girls have to spend more time on their presentation, even if it's just plaiting their hair so it's out of their way for a test."

Ron snorted.

"Yeah, Ginny was always looking in the mirror and thinking about tests."

"Oh shut up!"

"What is it with you all today? First Jal, now you!"

"Why are you getting dressed up? Is there a function today?"

"I'm not dressed up, I'm just well presented."

"That, for you, is dressed up."

"Did you mean that to be insulting?" Ron asked, impassively.

"Ron, what are you doing?"

"And besides," he turned back to look back into the mirror and stroke his chin, "six blokes, one tiny mirror in the bathroom, men need to look at their faces every day. Do you see any of us with a beard?"

"Seven of you, you forgot your dad."

"No I didn't, I wasn't counting Percy."

"Oh leave poor Percy alone!"

"I'm not picking on him, he can't grow facial hair."

"He what?"

"Percy doesn't have to shave. He can't grow facial hair...or..." Ron mumbled the end of the sentence into his chest as he looked away with a smirk, "...pubic hair."

"Oh now you _are_ just picking on him."

"I'm not, Fred-"

"Don't say anymore," Hermione held up both hands, "Fred told you and you believed him. You're ridiculously naive sometimes."

"Fred did it," Ron said, still smiling, "Percy started puberty and Fred...reversed it for him."

"Oh my God!"

"They managed to get his balls to drop back down and his voice eventually broke, but the hair," Ron shook his head, "never grew back."

"That's...poor Percy." Hermione said, biting her lip very hard and wringing her hands.

"Don't worry, I won't tell him you laughed."

"I _didn't _laugh!" Hermione stood upright and protested, cheeks flushed.

"You're _going_ to," Ron said with his cocky bastard grin spreading wide across his face.

Hermione looked furious and frustrated. Then her eyes widened and she pointed her finger directly into Ron's face.

"You!"

"He knows I laugh about it," Ron said, still clearly amused.

"Don't you go thinking you can distract me with this. Ugh, you and your aversion techniques, it might work on your family and it always works on Harry, but not with me sunshine."

"Did you just call me sunshine?"

"You bet I did!" Hermione waggled her finger even closer to his face, stepping closer and looking fiercely up at him. "You got drugged and dumped in a brothel. I had a Minister come to the flat and plant whatever it was in our home. We've been cut off from the outside world and today you're...you're wearing a white shirt and a black tie and your smart robes and...and..." she pointed down at his feet as if the final incriminating piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place before her, "...proper shoes!"

"You're not supposed to be angry that I'm dressing properly for work."

"I'm angry because you're up to something and pretending that you're not."

"You want me to sit around all meek because they beat me yesterday?"

"No, but I want to know everything you're planning to do. You were honest with me yesterday and you don't tip toe around me like the fragile little woman who needs to be kept in the dark. You're only allowed one secret and you've already used that up."

"Low blow," Ron said, darkly.

"I know, and I've never asked have I? It's between you and Harry and I promised you I'll never ask. You promised to tell me everything else so start talking."

When he finally stepped into the Ministry with Jalil at his side, Ron looked every bit the ambassador.

"Ah, Mr Weasley," a heavily embroidered puce robe swept before him and a man with a shiny face and a greasy black moustache stepped into his path.

"It's _Auror_ Weasley, and you are?" Ron said, head high and confidence radiating from him.

"I er, heard you probably won't come to Ministry any more," the man said, thrown off kilter by the demeanour of a man he was told had been scared off. "You come to arrange travel home?"

"I am home, I live in Nakhchivan City, just like you. Now can I help you or are you simply a well dressed doorman?"

He could have sworn he heard Jalil stifle a gasp at this. Ron had learned pomposity from the best. Percy climbed the ranks at the Ministry by reaching above his station.

"Mr... Auror...I..."

"So are you going to prevent me from going through this door or are you going to open it for me?" Ron asked him, pointedly.

The man held the door open for him and, amazingly, bowed as they passed through.

"Good man," Ron said, flicking a gold coin at him.

The shiny faced man caught the coin and gaped after Ron as he proceeded through the Ministry with long strides. Jalil was trotting after him, whispering in amazement.

"That was the Minister for Agriculture!"

"Really? Funny how the farmers are all struggling yet he's dressed like a pantomime dame."

"You _tipped_ him," Jalil said, shakily. "You tipped him like a doorman!"

"He's a man, he held the door, he's a door-man."

"Hello," the Minister for Magic himself stepped out from behind a large tapestry hanging on the wall a few feet ahead of them, "I hoped to see you yesterday in Julfa."

"I bet you did," Ron said as he slowed his pace until he was standing before the Minister for Magic and his accompanying Auror.

"I apologise you found nobody free to talk to you before. I am free now."

Ron smiled at him.

"Oh, isn't it always the way? I'm busy. Maybe you can make an appointment with Jal here, he'll see if he can squeeze you in."

Again Jalil gasped. So did the Auror. The Minister looked as if he wanted to punch Ron. Ron was playing their game and they didn't like it. 'Tough', he thought to himself as he strode away, leaving Jalil to stammer something in Russian to the most powerful man in Nakhchivan. He walked all the way to the Polkovnik's office, ignored the secretary at the desk outside, and opened the door without a knock.

The Polkovnik was moving behind his desk, slightly out of breath, almost as if he had run all the way from behind the tapestry Ron had left the Minister. He looked at Ron and opened his mouth to speak.

"Hello, Auror Ron Weasley, British Ministry representative, sorry you're late for our appointment."

"Ah, appointment?"

"We had one a couple of days ago, nice to finally get to business, mind if I take a seat?" Ron sat down before permission could be granted.

"I have been busy," the Polkovnik said, sitting down too.

"Haven't we all?" Ron said before shaking his head and laughing. "All the Floo network going down like that, you must be in such a fluster. Security nightmare eh? Or was it just the international Floo's? Is it just ours that broke all together?"

"You... Your connection..."

"Not working, that's right, so you're going to have to fix that otherwise you're not going to be able to monitor my communications and I know that's not good for national security. I'll be going straight back after our business today so send somebody over then. My wife's not going to let anybody in until I'm back so no point sending them now. We're going to be occupied for a couple of hours aren't we?"

"We are?"

"Well I had something to discuss with you, some concerns about your Auror department, but I get the feeling that information and photographic evidence has already passed through your hands. You're very efficient, I'll mention that in my report to our foreign Minister at home," Ron said as he sat back in his chair, "Floo repair permitting."

"Report."

"Yes," Ron smiled, "if I don't report they're going to wonder what's happened to me. They'll send more like me to investigate. Think of all the paperwork that'll give you, all that border crossing clearance."

"We can't let people in without arrangements agreed by Minister."

"I know, he'd have to put everything on hold to deal with it, wouldn't he? Can you imagine the diplomatic suicide resulting in him trying to prevent a team, who are permitted by international magical law to verify that my civilian family are safe and well, from getting into the country?"

"We will send word for you so they do not worry."

"That will suffice until the Floo is repaired, not a long term solution though is it? They need to hear from me in person by the end of the week and we've already lost one day." Ron sat forward. "Anyway, enough of that, you have great faith in your legal system."

"I do."

"You trust your Aurors implicitly."

"They are good, honest men and women, they honour their country."

"So I must have caused some offence with my questions, I'm very sorry about that," Ron said, shocking the Polkovnik with his attitude.

"We were offended but, you were not rude," he said, clearly suspicious but trying to remain diplomatic, "we should probably talk to you sooner. We make ourselves look bad."

"We've all made mistakes." Ron smiled. "I'm a guest in your country and I don't know how things work around here."

"You can see our Aurors work, reassure yourself, I will arrange a visit to headquarters."

"Well, I look forward to it," Ron said before leaning against the desk and smiling at the Polkovnik, mischievously, "but right now, I'd love to see your legal system at work. You must be dying to show it off to me, I'm free for the next hour or so and your Wizengamot must be holding a trial right now."

The Polkovnik's face fell.

"Wizengamot," he repeated, paling.

"You have so many prisoners in your cells, I mean it goes hand in hand with having such proficient Aurors at your disposal, so you must be holding trials daily. I think my mind would be put at ease once I see how thorough your court procedure is."

"You wish to witness a trial?"

"Yes please," Ron said with a grin.

"Trials are in our language."

"Jalil Araz, you assigned him to translate for me, he can tag along and explain everything. He's very good."

The Polkovnik stewed on his response for a moment and then leaned over his desk to write a memo. Ron sat back and waited. The memo folded itself into a paper plane and darted off, over his shoulder, almost grazing his cheek. The Polkovnik smiled.

"You and your man can watch a trial. The court is expecting you. Your man will know where to go."

"Thank you," Ron rose from his chair and shook the Polkovnik's hand.

He turned to leave. He heard the Polkovnik's leather chair squeaking as he sat back in it.

"Auror Weasley," the man said, waiting for Ron to look back, "I see why they sent you here. You are very good."

Ron gave him a nod.

"We should play chess."

The Polkovnik raised an eyebrow at his suggestion.

"I think we are."


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

As Jalil walked Ron through the echoing hallway of the court building, Ron noted that there was an abandoned mop and bucket against one wall, a dusty reception desk with no staff in the opposite corner, and a presiding wizard wandering around looking lost.

The man asked Jalil something, to which he responded, and then turned to Ron.

"That man was Judge, he ask where court room is. He never been here before."

"They got a new judge just for me?" Ron said, sarcastically.

Jalil didn't pick up on his tone.

"No, they holding trial just for you. They don't do that here."

"I didn't think so," Ron said as he proceeded through the abandoned building and followed the old man through the double doors at the end, "but what were they gonna do? They had to admit they convicted and executed people without a trial or hold a trial for me to see."

They stepped through the doors and saw that, apart from Aurors and presiding wizards, they were the only people in attendance.

"I'll find a couple of seats, you go into the street and announce that there's a public trial going on inside and anyone interested can come in."

"But..."

"But what? It's their legal right."

Jalil turned and ran back to the street. A side door opened and a man Ron recognised from the cells he'd visited was being led out and chained to a chair. He spotted Ron and his eyes were wide.

"English!"

One of the Aurors cracked him across the side of the head with a stout rod. Ron stood and drew his wand.

"I am an Auror and an Ambassador, here as the guest of the Polkovnik to see that prisoners get a fair trial," he shouted, clearly at least one of the men understood him as a hand was raised to silence the group, "where is this man's legal representative?"

The Aurors looked at each other. Jalil ran, breathless, back into the court, a crowd from the street pushing their way inside from behind him.

"Jal, ask these men where the prisoner's defender is."

Jalil panted the question, then answered Ron when no answer came.

"We don't do that here."

"You do that all over the world," Ron said, darkly, "it's International Magical Law."

"We don't do that either!" A market trader passing through to get a seat at the front interrupted with a laugh.

"Jal, get my wife, tell her to leave Rose with the sitter regardless of whether she's available, and bring her here."

"Ron," Jalil began, clearly worried.

"Bring my wife to the courtroom," Ron said, calmly, "tell her they're trying people without anyone to defend them and see if you can stop her coming."

Jalil nodded, turned and ran out into the street to Disapparate.

"English, you get me trial?" The prisoner looked terrified of the shambolic display of a fair trial that was being set up for him.

"My wife," Ron spoke clearly, the crowd hushed, "is coming. She is defender for the law in England. She's coming to defend you."

The man looked as if he was resigned to being put to death, but pathetically grateful that it would at least feel a little like he had half a chance along the way.

The judge banged a meat tenderiser against the wall to get people's attention and Ron almost laughed. This was medieval. He stared shouting at the prisoner and the Aurors began to shove him and jeer. Ron glanced around, he'd forgotten that Jalil was his only way of understanding what was going on.

"It _is _you."

Ron turned toward the voice and saw the woman from the brothel smiling at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"They took prisoners from across the road, said there would be trial. This never happen before so we all follow. I say to Somaz, this is English man you give massage, I tell you, and here you are!"

The judge shouted again. Ron looked from the woman to the swollen old man crammed into the chair that was too small for him, then back.

"Here," he said, patting the seat at his side, "I need you to tell me what everybody says. I'll pay you."

"You first man to offer money for this," she said with a laugh.

"Will you do it, er...Zally..."

"Zaliha. I do for you, good virgin boy."

Ron let out a short groan and then shook his head and waved his hand towards the proceedings.

The judge was still shouting, what was clearly abuse at the prisoner. The man turned to look back at Ron and was struck about the face again for his troubles.

"Do they know they're trying to impress me with their fairness?" Ron said in amazement.

"This is court, nobody know what happen in court, we no have this."

The judge shouted over the chattering crowd. Zaliha translated.

"He not want to spend too long on trials, is a waste of time."

"Tell him you're waiting for your defence," Ron shouted to the prisoner.

Every time Ron spoke up the buzz from the crowd quietened down. When the judge spoke it was greeted with mutterings and dissent. The prisoner tried to pass on the message but was roughly gagged. The crowd roared their disapproval. Zaliha stood up beside Ron and shouted out the translation of Ron's words. The judge looked furious.

"He tell me to sit down and shut up or be arrested. He say he no be spoken to by whore."

"Tell him you're a virgin," Ron muttered, jumping up as Zaliha turned to do just that. "Wait, no, don't do that! Tell him I will have him arrested."

Zaliha did as he asked and the crowd cheered and applauded. The doors opened again and Hermione came hurrying through the mass of people, wearing a smart black robe over a Chudley Cannons T shirt covered in baby vomit. Ron hadn't smiled as widely since they left Crete. Hermione fastened her robe, smiled at him and made her way to the front of the court.

"Jal, go with her, I have someone to tell me what's going on," Ron called to his friend, who followed Hermione and stood with her as she argued her right to join the defendant.

"Tell them this is a representative of British Magical Law and if they stop her getting through they will all be arrested and tried in an international court." Ron prompted Zaliha.

Zaliha shouted at the top of her lungs, what sounded like only two words. Hermione and Jalil were allowed to pass. Ron looked at Zaliha with wide eyes. She sat back down with a smile.

"I tell them to fuck off," she said, cheerfully.

"Nice language for a virgin," Ron said, impressed.

"Swear words are first words I learn. They think this what you say to them anyway. They scared of you."

"Not scared enough," Ron said as he watched Hermione being warned off removing the gag from the prisoner.

"This ridiculous, must stop. Trial only delay justice, not prevent it." Zaliha was summarising the judge's rant for Ron, who was impressed at her vocabulary.

She must have been able to tell as she added.

"I want to be English teacher."

"Ah." Ron nodded.

The judge pointed at the prisoner, Hermione was touching his arms and speaking to him, attentively now. Ron looked at Jalil who was talking to each Auror as they approached, speaking very fast and apparently warning them of the trouble they could be in if Hermione or Ron were to be assaulted.

"Just because this man speak English, not mean he immune too. He guilty and will die."

Hermione must have just been told the same thing as she jumped to her feet and spoke up, furiously.

"You don't pass judgement and condemn people to death before the case has even been put to them!"

Jalil began to translate this for her when the Judge smashed his meat tenderiser against the wall again. A lump of plaster crumbled away.

"He tell her shut up, he does not wish to hear from defence. He say, I will not hear from you."

"Like that's gonna stop her," Ron snorted.

"He say, defence will speak only when spoken to."

"Do you have any witnesses to testify against this man?" Hermione yelled.

Jalil passed her question on at equal volume. The judge glanced up at Ron, who stared at him and folded his arms, waiting for the answer. The judge barked something at one of the Aurors and the crowd laughed and jeered.

"He call for witness," Zaliha said with a grin.

A frail old wizard on the point of collapse was led inside. Ron wondered if he was one of the people from the cells who remained hidden under their sheet when he had visited. He could see that the man held his wrist as if he'd been dragged around in shackles.

The prosecuting Auror stepped forward.

"He is going to read statement witness give," Zaliha said as she leaned forward to listen, "he identify nephew as man over there. He say nephew dark wizard. He steals, he travel to Dark Lord in England. Is why he speak English. He eat death."

"Death Eater," Ron corrected, grimly.

The judge shouted something at the trembling old man.

"Judge ask if this what he say. Man say yes, but is all lies. Judge tell him to shut up. Man say he was tortured. Judge say he already lie and say this but they will not believe it. Man say he want to tell truth."

The judge banged his splitting meat tenderiser again and waved for the old man to be taken away. Hermione was on her feet shouting, Jalil translating as she spoke, on his feet beside her.

"If you don't let this man speak his testimony, and accept a written one he disputes, this is a mistrial and you have to let both these men go free."

"Go on my girl," Ron muttered under his breath.

The old man was gaining a little strength from having Hermione fight his corner and raised his voice along with his frail arm.

"They torture him to say it. They torture his nephew. They beat him, they suffocate, and they..." Zaliha stopped.

The crowd gasped and fell silence and Jalil said something to Hermione that made her clasp her hand over her mouth.

"Zaliha, tell me what the old man said," Ron demanded.

"They rape his nephew with a...with a _bottle_!"

Zaliha, the virgin from the brothel who wanted to be an English teacher, looked at him in horror at what she just had to say.

Hermione turned to look at Ron, he looked horror-struck back at her, and they both seemed to wonder what could have happened to the other had they not had diplomatic immunity.

The old man was carrying on, almost falling over now.

"They take," Zaliha paused to clear her dry throat, and wipe her wet eyes, "take his granddaughter and say they rape her. He know not what happen to her, never see family again. Both put in prison."

The judge shouted over the wailing of a woman in tears at the back of the crowd.

"He say, this not evidence, they ignore lies. He say the man confess so what the point in lie."

The old man was dragged back the way he was dragged in and his nephew called out to him before being struck. Hermione actually drew her wand on the Auror with the stout rod.

The judge declared the trial a sham and that all prisoners be executed by sunset. He stormed out of the court and Jalil had to manhandle Hermione away from going after him. She was red faced and livid and the packed court room were jostling to either tell her or Ron of people they knew in similar situations.

Ron got to Hermione and Jalil and managed to get them into a side room, closing and sealing the door behind them.

"And I thought Harry's trial was a sham," he said, leaning back against the door in shock.

"That was a joke!" Hermione screeched, pulling off her robe and throwing it to the floor. "I've never seen anything like it."

"It's bloody obvious that bloke wasn't popping over to England to chip in with Voldermort."

"His innocence or guilt aren't even what matters." Hermione was still fuming. "He deserves a fair trial. How did that oaf get to be a judge?"

"I think it was just because he showed up first," Ron said, running a hand over his hair and slumping.

Hermione looked at him and then slammed into his chest to smother him with a hug.

"Don't ever go anywhere without Jal," she said, crushing his ribcage, "nowhere outside the Ministry or the house, nowhere without him!"

Ron didn't protest. They both knew that Jalil's over protectiveness wasn't misplaced at all.

The noise from the other side of the door was still fairly rowdy. Ron clung to Hermione and huffed into her hair.

"Shit, I just left poor Zaliha out there."

"Who? The translator woman?"

Ron looked down at his wife, flushed in the face and covered in dried sick, and winced.

"The translator woman who gave me back my clothes in the brothel." Ron watched her face for signs of anger. "Please don't be less okay about the brothel thing now."

"She came to a trial, and she helped you get out of that place unnoticed, I'm still okay with the brothel thing." She rested her head back against his chest. "Omissions of how beautiful she was haven't gone unnoticed though."

---

Ron was sitting in the bath with Rose resting against his thighs, facing him. He gently washed her fluffy brown hair and she kicked at the water and gurgled dribble all over her chin.

"Just so you know," Ron said, softly, "this isn't just one of those, 'please don't poo' moments, this is almost the absolute worst time you could ever poo. You won't poo into Daddy's bathwater will you Rosie?"

Big brown eyes blinked up at him, eyelashes dark from the water, and he lathered up a soft sponge and washed his daughter's chest. The door opened and Hermione stepped in, wrapped in a towel. Her hair was bundled up into a turban and she pulled it away to let her damp ringlets tumble down over her shoulders.

She perched on the side of the bath tub and ran her hand down Ron's back and into the water. She scooped some bubbly liquid up and dragged her hand back up to his shoulders, spreading the soapy water across his skin, and watched it trickle down.

Rose kicked her podgy little legs again and Ron caught one of her flailing hands between his lips. He hummed around her fingers until she giggled and then let her hand fall away. Hermione reached across for the shampoo bottle and poured a small splodge into her hand. She spread the shampoo between her palms and then began to lather up Ron's hair.

"Am I using your shampoo? Am I Rosie?" Ron said, smiling as he rubbed her nose with the tip of his own.

Rose watched as her mummy washed her daddy's hair. She made a couple of baby noises while her unblinking eyes watched the water falling and the hands moving. As Hermione massaged his scalp he felt the lather falling down his forehead and closed his eyes. Rose swung her arm at his face but couldn't reach.

"She can't stand to think you're falling asleep," Hermione chuckled as she tried to swipe the suds away.

Ron cracked open an eye and peeked at his daughter.

"I keep the soap out of your eyes, don't I? I'm better at this than mummy eh?"

"Bobobobo bo!" Rose gibbered at him.

"Oh I agree," Ron said, nodding.

"It's nice you've found somebody to have conversations with on your own intellectual level." Hermione teased.

"Oi," he tried to turn his head but she shoved it back and started to rinse the soap away with handfuls of warm water. "It's hardly my fault if I have to dumb it down for mummy is it?

Hermione splashed him and he laughed. Rose kicked her legs and reached for him with both arms.

"Look at these wrinkled little hands," Ron said as he placed his fingers into her palms. "You're turning into a prune. Granny Weasley's going to bake you in a fruit cake and we'll gobble you up."

Ron made hungry noises against her belly and she squealed and laughed.

"Close your eyes," Hermione said as she set about rinsing Ron's hair with a chipped porcelain jug.

Rose started splashing again and Hermione set down the jug and reached over to lift her daughter out of the bath.

"Time to get you in a nice clean nappy so you can ruin it within seconds, I think."

"Thanks for not pooing, Rosie posey!" Ron called as he sank back in the bath with his eyes closed.

"Don't fall asleep," Hermione said as she wrapped her daughter in a soft towel and carried her away to the bedroom.

"I've slid as far as I can slide," Ron called back, "one day I will actually fit in a bath," he grumbled.

"We're not getting a Jacuzzi," Hermione called back with a huff.

"Spoilsport."

A few minutes later Hermione stepped back into the bathroom and stood, looking down at her husband.

"You still managed it," she said, shaking her head before leaning over and whispering into his ear, "wake up, the water's getting tepid."

"I'll wee in it, that'll raise the temperature," he mumbled.

"So you didn't want baby poo in the bath, but urine is just fine."

"When it's mine," Ron said with a wide grin.

Hermione made a disgusted sound and turned to leave. Ron reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Hey," she sat back on the edge of the bath and waited for him to continue, "I don't know what to do now."

"Get out of the bath." She tried to make a joke of it but knew what he was getting at.

"I thought forcing them to have proper trials would help but that was..." He looked away and let go of her arm. "Those people are all dead by now."

"Stop it, don't think about it," she said, bracingly.

"Don't think about it?" Ron gaped at her in disbelief. "Are you going to be able to put your mind elsewhere when I go back out there tomorrow?"

Hermione looked as if he'd just told her he planned to lock himself in a room full of Nakhchivan Aurors and a wine bottle all day.

"You made a difference today," she said as she reached over and pulled the plug, draining the water around him, "that courtroom was packed full of people who had never seen a trial before."

"They didn't see one today," Ron said with a huff.

"They saw people trying to help, people telling the Aurors what they were doing was wrong, they saw people cared!"

"I won't be treasurer of whatever club you're about to form." Ron sounded weary.

"Listen to me," she said, hating it when the despondency reared its head to loom over her husband, "those people saw that it was possible to stand up to the Aurors and get them to stop. They were afraid of you. The judge was afraid of both of us. They were afraid of intelligence, knowledge, integrity."

"And now they're afraid of bottles," Ron said as he climbed out of the bath and slipped.

Hermione reached forward and gripped his arms to steady him.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome as long as you stop talking about the bottle," she shuddered as she spoke.

Ron held onto her and water droplets fell from the tips of his hair.

"Do you think the uncle's dead too?"

"Stop it."

She reached for a towel and pulled it around his waist. He stood before her and leaned in to kiss her lips, gently.

"Take my mind off it."

She curled her arms behind his neck and licked his wet lips open. His hands moved to the small of her back and held her against him. She lapped against the side of his tongue and drew back, stroking against it, slowly.

The steam was dissipating around them but the air still felt wetter, thicker, and Ron's damp skin pressed against her. She moved to kiss the side of his neck, drinking the beads of moisture from his collarbone, and when a fat droplet fell from a lock of hair drooping over his face it struck the side of her mouth. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip to collect it and Ron pushed back down to kiss her again.

Hermione leaned away from Ron's unusually delicate kisses and looked down his long body to the inward curve of his firm stomach. Her eyes lingered at his belly button and then lowered to dwell on the hipbones protruding over the top of the low slung towel. She bit her lip and dragged her hands, slowly, down his slender frame.

"Drop the towel."

---

The knocking on the door at six thirty in the morning didn't go down well.

Ron answered with his wand in his hand, his wife's very short dressing gown pulled around himself, and some bed hair that made him look as if he was trying to steal Harry Potter's look. He found himself face to face with the Nakhchivan Minister for magic and three muscular Aurors who didn't look at all impressed that a skinny bloke in women's clothing was pointing a wand at their boss.

"I'm early for my appointment," the Minister said with a 'fuck you' smile, "I know you have been kept waiting by my Ministers so I set an example."

"Official business?" Ron asked, directing his wand at the knees of the closest Auror, not defensive, but not stupid enough to trust them either.

"Business of the law," The Minister said with an eager rubbing together of the hands.

"I'll see you in the office then, I'll just dress and be on my way." Ron was about to close the door when the closest Auror's foot blocked it.

Ron gave the man a significant look that showed no fear or anger, but clear offence at the gesture.

"Why waste time, I can wait inside while you prepare, as long as you don't mind me coming into your home."

"This building belongs to your Ministry." Ron said, pointedly.

"This apartment is home to your family. May I come into your home, Auror Weasley?"

"Our Floo still doesn't work, isn't that poor security for a man of your standing?"

"I will be safe with a man with your experience," he said, smugly.

Ron wanted nothing more than to tell the Minister he could do his business in the doorway but he was supposed to be a diplomat. He heard the bedroom door creak and turned to see Hermione standing at the end of the hall with the baby in her arms, wearing nothing but his baggiest t shirt.

"He can come in," she said, "but they wait outside."

She carried Rose through to the bathroom and locked the door. Ron turned back to the Minister with a smile and a shrug.

"You heard the lady of the house."

The three Aurors looked as if they wanted nothing more than to punch Ron in the stomach and terrorise Hermione in front of him, but the Minister nodded and stepped inside. He gave them some instructions in his native tongue and then closed the door on them.

"So, did you enjoy court yesterday?" The man walked with Ron towards the living room and then had a brief stand off over who would enter the room first.

"Well I would ordinarily enjoy a good farce but I couldn't really get into this one. Maybe it got lost in translation," he said as he stepped back towards his own bedroom door. "Take a seat and I'll put on some clothes."

"This isn't how the men of England dress for meetings?" The Minister gestured to Ron's violet and heather spotted dressing gown.

"Not unless you're Cornish," Ron said before gesturing into the living room once again.

When Ron stepped out with an untucked shirt over a pair of black trousers and no underwear, he found that Hermione was wearing a dress the same colour as their bath towels. She was pouring some tea and the Minister was using all his English small talk on her. They both turned towards Ron as he walked in and Hermione rose onto her toes to kiss him on the cheek.

"Morning, I didn't get the chance to say it earlier."

She threw a look at the Minister and then poured some tea for Ron.

"So, the man on trial yesterday," Ron said as he started adding sugar to his tea, "he's dead now?"

"Yes," the Minister said, watching the three heaped spoonfuls plop into the milky beige liquid, "he was a criminal."

"He wasn't convicted as far as I saw."

"But he was declared guilty before his defence even arrived," Hermione said as she sat down to join them.

The Minister found this outrageous, and looked at her as if expecting her to realise she had no business giving her opinion on their discussion.

"A defence that wasn't allowed to speak until they were spoken to," Ron said with a snort into his tea.

"This man committed crimes, this man was caught, this man was punished."

"This man was tortured because you couldn't prove he actually did anything." Ron said, setting down his cup and folding his arms.

"Where is the proof he was tortured?"

"Witness testimony," Hermione began.

"I have witness testimony he wasn't!" The Minister snapped at her.

Ron sat back in his chair, looking at the man, and said nothing.

The Minister looked at his tea, then pushed it away and leaned across the table.

"You would prefer this man went to your country and attacked your people?"

Still Ron said nothing.

"We would have liked to have been provided proof that this man was dangerous," Hermione said as she leaned into his line of sight.

The Minister ignored her and looked at Ron. Ron stared back and said nothing.

"Auror Weasley," the Minister began with a huff.

"I know he's innocent because I've just made up a whole case in my head and don't have to prove a thing." Ron clapped his hands together, sat forward and picked up his teacup. "In fact I just know and don't have to prove that everybody in your cells are innocent. I don't need evidence, I just need to _know_."

"This is ri-"

"I don't want to hear from the prosecution, you're wasting my time as the decision is already made. I'll tell the Polkovnik that you said to let everybody go."

"I find you very rude, Auror Weasley."

"I find the way you just spoke to my wife very rude."

Hermione held back a smile as she turned toward him again.

"I apologise to you Mrs Weasley, but who are you British to come into our country and try to tell us to let criminals go free? Imagine your feelings if I were to sit in your London Ministry and tell your Aurors to let the Death Eaters go. Would you like your country run by murderers?"

"It was," Ron said, bluntly, "our Minister was murdered and our Ministry was taken over by evil witches and wizards and do you know how many countries sent people over to help?"

The Minister sat back and muttered something in Russian.

"We had no law, and people who did nothing wrong were imprisoned and murdered," Ron said, coolly, "your country is in the same situation right now. The only difference is that you have people from another country trying to help you."

"Are you saying I am an evil dictator?"

Hermione looked at Ron fiercely. A moment passed between them in which she ordered him not to call him a dick.

"You seem to think I'm comparing you to Pius Thicknesse," Ron said, using all his restraint to overcome his natural instincts, "I'm not."

The Minister smiled.

"I'm comparing you to Cornelius Fudge."

His face fell.

"You are calling me a fool?"

"If you don't change the way things are done here, you are a fool. Fudge was told over and over again that the country was about to go to war and he ignored the warnings and said everything he did was perfect."

"People asked him to look at proof, at evidence, to release innocent people," Hermione added, "and he said he didn't need proof and the evidence was lies. He just _knew_ he was right."

"Get back to your kitchen, woman," the Minister snarled.

Ron rose from his chair so fast that it fall over behind him, the noise startling Rose in her bouncy chair and making her cry, the Minister was on his feet with his wand drawn immediately. Hermione had her wand pointed at the Minister's throat and her eyes were wild.

"Lower your wand," she demanded.

"Go to your child," the Minister responded.

"I will start an international war right now unless you point that wand away from my husband," Hermione said, flushed with fury.

Ron side stepped around the table, away from the Minister's line of fire and lifted Rose out of her chair.

"Shhh, daddy's sorry little one, don't cry."

The Minister put his wand away again and approached Ron.

"I see the evil growing in the country, I don't deny it."

"I see decency in this country," Ron said, rocking his daughter in his arms, "why do you deny that even one person in your prisons might be innocent?"

"In your country you waste your time arresting the innocent. Here we only arrest the guilty."

The Minister turned to Hermione and gave her a nod before turning to leave the room. Ron followed him to the door and Hermione stood back a little way, fuming at him. He let himself out, his apes stood to attention when they saw him. He snapped something at them and they al shrugged at each other and then shook their heads at him. The Minister looked back at the doorframe and then at Ron, impressed.

"You charmed the door so they couldn't hear the chair bang, impressive magic."

"Credit to the impressive wife," Ron nodded over his shoulder at Hermione.

The Minister held out his hand for Ron to shake. Ron looked at the baby in his arms and then raised both eyebrows at the man. The Minister lowered his hand and cleared his throat.

"Auror Weasley," he said, in an even tone, "I want you to know that, no matter what happens between us, you and your family are safe in this country."

Ron nodded.

"You're just no longer welcome." With that he turned, beckoned his Aurors to follow, and stormed out.

Ron let out a breath he'd been holding and closed the door with his hip. He leaned back against it and hugged Rose to his chest.

"I need a drink."

Hermione smiled at him from the end of the hall.

"It's seven in the morning."

"Really? Bugger." He pushed away from the door and carried the baby to the bedroom. "Right, I'm going back to bed, you coming?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

The other foreign Ministries sent their representatives to a banquet that the Minister for Magic was throwing in honour of Merlin's birthday. Ron hadn't been invited but the Bulgarian Auror representative asked him along as a guest.

"By making a friend of me you're making an enemy of the whole Nakhchivan Ministry of Magic," Ron warned him as they entered the lavish ball room.

"Everyone is an enemy of the Nakhchivan Ministry," the Bulgarian Auror said as he took a bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses off a tray that was floating around the large room. "Everyone who is not one of them is an enemy. You're just the first one to declare war."

"I haven't declared war!" Ron was stunned that this was what the other diplomatic Aurors thought he was doing.

The thick set man was laughing and pouring a very generous helping of Firewhisky into both glasses. He held one out to Ron and then clinked their glasses together.

"Cheers, and it was a speech figure," he said before spotting somebody across the room and waving to get their attention, "you should speak to the Turks, or the Egyptians here, they hate the Ministry and they love you. Their Foreign Ministers back home didn't let them approach you, though."

"Didn't let them?" Ron said after forcing down his overzeallous mouthful of spirit.

"It looks bad. We're all supposed to just be seen to be here, not doing things."

"And you all like that?"

"Pft, no! Ah, I can introduce you to my friends, Akbar from Cairo and Muzzy from Turkey, this is a friend of my brother in law's. Ron is working here too, his wife used to go out with my brother in law but we are all good friends now."

The men laughed and clinked glasses with Ron, who was looking at his new Bulgarian friend in curiosity.

"You're Viktor Krum's brother in law?"

The man winked.

"We were chatting in the Floo and I mentioned you getting them to hold a trial. He told me you are a friend to him, to Bulgaria, and I am to see you and your family aren't mistreated."

Ron took another drink and marvelled at this news.

"The Spaniards are loving all the trouble you're getting into, pissed them off too did you?" The Turkish Auror, Muzzy, said with a delighted grin on his face. "Preening layabouts, I ask you, what sort of country can judge the work of any of us when all they do is plan their next nap?"

"I think they call them siestas," an American man leaned into the group, shook Ron's hand and then nodded a greeting to the others, "I can't do more than pass by, sorry guys. Nice meeting you, Auror Weasley."

The American kept on walking and Ron looked baffled.

"The Americans care too much about what the Muggles think. The Muggles are sucking up to the Nakhchivan government and have told the Presidential Minister to do the same. They don't understand that the countries in power in their world aren't the same in ours."

"He knows, he's El Greco isn't he?" Akbar said as he raised his glass to Ron.

"Ah yes, you've noticed there are no Greeks here at all," Muzzy said with a roll of the eyes, "they won't endorse the dictatorship by sending representation. It's a great insult as they are _the_ great wizarding nation."

"Rome has something to say about that," Krum's brother in law mumbled into his drink.

"Rome are all talk," Akbar said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "But, you should know, Egypt and Greece, we are strong allies. Greece know what is being done to you here, they asked our Ministry to send word to me to speak with you. Drink more, we have to look like bitter outsiders at the big boys party," Akbar nodded to Ron's glass.

Ron drained his glass in one gulp and stepped closer.

"They didn't invite you because they suspected one of us would be acting as a proxy for Greece. It's me, by the way."

"He got that the first time," Muzzy said with a huff, "how much have you been drinking?"

"He means you have a Greek representative here in Nakhchivan," the Bulgarian said as he clapped him on the shoulder.

"They can't do anything, just like we can't, you know how they react if a diplomatic Auror was to try to do...a_nything_ really." Akbar poured himself another Firewhisky before continuing. "You see why we can't all act like you, or act as if we support you, you had the man himself come to your house!"

"And my Ministry can't because we're too close, there's too much political pressure from our neighbours, and people simply prefer the 'as long as it's not happening here' way of thinking." Muzzy said, slumping with guilt and despondency.

"You have Bulgaria to use indirectly to contact Britain and Egypt to contact Greece." Akbar put his arm around Muzzy and smiled, "Turkey is here if you are feeling depressed and want to see belly dancers!"

"Hey!" Muzzy elbowed Akbar in the side and they all laughed.

There was no more talk about allegiances and corruption after that, just a second bottle of Firewhisky and then a short stagger outside into Jalil's waiting arms. He had to put his arms around Ron to keep him from falling flat on his face. There was some Russian grumbling, a pause for vomiting into a plant pot, and then Jalil side-along Disapparated to the steps of the flat. After a ten minute journey one floor up, Ron giggled, leaned against the doorframe and fell asleep. Jalil knocked and Hermione answered almost instantaneously.

"Drunk?" She asked, sounding almost hopeful.

"Very drunk," Jalil said, nodding and trying to heave Ron through the door, "his body too long to carry."

"I know," Hermione said as she took his weight from the other side and helped to drag him to the bedroom, "he never weighs this much when he's awake."

Ron's head jolted up and almost smashed Jalil in the mouth.

"All you've got to do is shtand up to them, just shtand up to bullies, then they reshpect you."

"Yes, that's right, never one to bow down even when you're outnumbered were you?" Hermione said as she let him drop back onto the bed.

For a moment Ron sat up but by the second bounce of the mattress he toppled backwards and lay, arms splayed wide, on his back.

"Tha's what I need to do," Ron said as he started giggling, "I need to go amazing bouncing ferret on their arse! Boing...boing...boing..."

Jalil looked as if he'd just stopped understanding the English language and looked to Hermione for a translation.

"I've got balls! That's what you do when you've got the balls of a sperm whale, you look 'em in the eye and show 'em who's boss." Ron said, waggling his finger at an imaginary bully...or whale.

"He's fine," Hermione said as she began to wrestle off his shoes and socks, "don't go back out there this late, sleep in the living room tonight."

Jalil nodded and pulled the bedroom door closed as he left.

"I met Vicky's brother in law tonight," Ron said, gazing up at the ceiling.

"That's lovely," Hermione said, as she rolled him over to his side of the bed and pulled some covers over him.

He was laying on his stomach and she winced and tried to get him to roll onto his back but he was dead to the world again.

"Fine," she sighed, "you drench your own pillow but stay off mine."

---

It was market day on the street outside and the calling from the stall holders caused Ron to burry his face deep into the pillow and groan. He could feel that the bed was cool beside him and guessed that Hermione had got up to deal with the baby.

Something was banging now, like metal pots being slammed against each other, and Ron's shoulders hunched up while he sank down under the sheets. There was a loud knock on the front door and Ron swore to himself and curled up into a tight ball on his side.

"I have it, and I bring you a mortar and pestle too, I see you no have anything to grind," Jalil's voice was saying, while a bumping and dragging sound grew louder along the hallway and Ron sighed, wearily.

Something banged against the door and then Rose stared crying at the top of her lungs. Ron's head started to hurt behind his eyes and he whined into his pillow. The door opened and the sound of his daughter split through his skull as Hermione leaned in with the red faced child squalling in her arms.

"You have two choices," Hermione said, blowing a lock of hair out of her face, "either take care of your daughter while I make something to help your hangover, or you stay in bed undisturbed all day but feeling like hell. That market's only going to get louder until they pack up at sunset...which if you'll remember is even louder still."

Ron drew in a long, put upon, breath and then moaned as he forced himself to sit up. He reached out and took Rose. The baby was still screaming her head off.

"C'mon, shhhh shhhhh shhhhh, you always shush for daddy. Come and snuggle with me very quietly."

Rose screamed so loud it put his teeth on edge.

"She knows when daddy doesn't deserve a break," Hermione said as she stepped out of the room and closed the door, leaving them alone.

Ron groaned again and bounced Rose until she threw up on him. He cleaned her up, cleaned himself up, stripped the sheets off the bed and then couldn't stand the smell any more and left the baby on the bed so he could run to the bathroom and puke into the toilet.

He didn't bring up much, just some bile and something yellow and lumpy, but he spent a good couple of minutes retching before he could flush and go back to Rose on the mattress. She was looking up at him with a tear streaked face. She was also laying in a pool of liquid poo. Ron groaned and set about cleaning her back, her bottom and the mattress. He put a clean nappy on her and then hit the mattress with multiple cleaning charms before turning it over and then flopping back onto it.

Rose made a burbling sound and he got up again to take her from the nappy changing table and sit her on his lap. He looked at her. She looked at him. She burst into tears and started screaming. She was her mother's daughter all right. He was being punished for something that was entirely his own fault.

He sighed and rested her in the crook of his arm.

"I feel like poo, Rosie, please stop crying."

The pitch of the screams increased and he closed his eyes, massaging between the eyes with one hand, and then sighed.

When Hermione opened the bedroom door again, Rose was sitting, peacefully on her father's lap while he read a handwritten draft of an open letter to the Daily Prophet she had written while he'd been at the function the night before.

"James the first abolished the use of torture in 1608. Can any wizarding government claim to be capable of policing their country and evolving their legal policy when they conduct themselves by Muggle Tudor standards? Such backwards leaderships need to be given guidance and, where they refuse that guidance through illegal measures and corrupt judicial systems, be forcibly re educated by other nations."

"Throw that away, I sound like a Muggle leader trying to justify an invasion," Hermione shuddered.

Ron looked up at her.

"It's good though, you were really gonna send it to the paper back home?"

"For a while I was, hearing it read out loud I'm almost embarrassed at how it sounds. Is that how I sound when I go on about elf rights?"

Ron smiled at her and then turned back to the piece of parchment.

"Our Ministry, indeed al the Ministries of the world, must take a moment to consider their continuing presence in places like this. Our governments and our citizens are being seen to endorse such practices as torture, execution without trial, genocide and terrorism by Auror."

"Now I knew I wanted to word that differently as soon as I..." she paused and tilted her head to one side at Ron. "Why are you reading this stuff to the baby anyway?"

"It made her stop screaming," Ron said with a bemused shake of the head. "Doesn't bode well for her teenage years does it?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, sitting beside him on the bed, "an understanding of global politics would be a unique thing in the wizarding world."

"An understanding of Muggle chocolate bars is unique, too. Let's encourage her to find an interest in that."

He smiled across at her and she cupped his face with one hand to lift it towards the daylight. He squinted a little.

"You look like you've got two black eyes," she said before stroking his hair back from his face, "how's the inside of your head?"

"Gone from a troll with a drum kit to Hagrid in a creaky rocking chair."

"Here," she held up a mug with what looked like wet tar inside, "until the hangover cure potion is invented I'm afraid you'll have to drink this."

"It's black," Ron said as he looked into the mug.

"Yes, well it is eighty percent charcoal, you need to keep kit down and a Firewhisky hangover is like a Muggle overdose."

"A Muggle overdose of what?" Ron frowned at her.

"Give me Rose," Hermione swapped baby for potion, "and try to swallow the lot before you have time to taste it."

Ron downed the potion and was already grimacing before he could force the second gulp. He made it all the way through and then stuck out his black tongue while making disgusted noises at the back of his throat.

"I feel like I've licked an ashtray," he said, with distaste.

"But in half an hour you'll be able to eat without vomiting," she said as she leaned over and kissed his temple, "and your headache should be gone right away."

She carried Rose out of the bedroom and Ron called her back. Her head appeared as she leaned backwards to look through the doorway at him.

"You called?"

"I have a contact for Greece, did I tell you that?"

"No you didn't, that's great news." She smiled and moved to go again.

"Hermione, hold up," he called again, waiting for her to look back, "Krum's brother in law is the Auror for Bulgaria, I told you that right?"

"You said you'd met him, not the rest. Was that all?"

He paused to think, then looked up.

"America's not allowed to talk to me."

She nodded. Ron thought again.

"I think that's everything."

"Thank you for keeping me posted," she said with a wide smile. "Brush your teeth, they're kind of black."

---

Ron arrived at the Ministry with Jalil at his side, and found his permission to enter had been revoked.

"Safe but no longer welcome," he said to himself with a sigh.

"What will you do?" Jalil looked worried. "Your work is here. Are you sacked?"

"No," Ron said as he stood outside the closed doors and thought about what to do next, "I'm just not allowed to work. They want me to just sit at home doing nothing until my Ministry call me back home and send a replacement."

"So what now?"

Ron thought for a little longer. The doors opened, a pair of Aurors left the building and walked past them, down the steps, sniggering to themselves. The doors closed and Ron looked at Jalil once again.

"Do you have notices of execution? Are there announcements made? Papers, death lists, um...um..." Ron snapped his fingers beside his head and then waved his hand as he tried to remember the word, "obituaries? No, that bit in the paper about births, deaths and marriages, do you have that?"

"There is list of names outside burial ground," Jalil said, looking a little lost.

"Right," Ron said with a nod, "I never was an office boy anyway. We're going to get that list of names and visit as many of the next of kin as possible, and we're going to give them our condolences."

"Condole?"

"Yes. It's a common courtesy, and it's the least that should be done in acknowledgement of the fact that they were murdered, yet their names are going to be documented as executed criminals." Ron said as he set off down the steps.

Ron and Jalil managed to track down a list of everybody who had been killed from the day before. It turned out that the prisoner they had seen on trial and his uncle had been executed.

"But he was a witness!" Ron had exclaimed in disgust. "They kill the witnesses too?"

"This one say he was tortured, he say it was all lies, he was probably arrested when they took him away."

"But he was a fucking _witness_," Ron said in amazement.

He looked down at the list and then decided to visit the families in the order the victims were listed. It was going to be a long and depressing day.

---

"He says his brother was given land to work by Ministry. They give land for free as long as magical plants grown be given to hospital. Food and non magical plants their to sell."

"Sounds fair enough," Ron nodded as Jalil explained what one of the murdered men's family members was saying to them.

"This land was desert. Nothing grow and nobody want for anything. They spend ten years making this place for medicine, potion plants, ingredients and food. Then Ministry tell them to leave. Is their land and they no pay so get out."

"What notice did they give them?"

"Get out now or be arrested for stealing Ministry land."

"But it's their home!"

"He say, they work to make it valuable land, then they are homeless. They lose home, jobs, food for themselves. His brother went to Ministry to ask for job on land, to rent home so family stay."

"And?"

"And we come to say sorry for his death."

"What?"

"He not even know he arrested, not know he killed. Ministry not tell them. If we hadn't come, they would still be waiting for him to come back."

They'd spoken to somebody earlier who had said their son had been in prison for seven years while the Aurors tried to find something they could claim he had done wrong. In the end they killed him for non payment of taxes for the years he had been in prison.

By the time they were at the last name on the list Ron was beginning to go into shock. They were invited into the ransacked home of an eighty four year old witch who was beaten up by the Aurors for trying to appeal for mercy as they tortured her sons and grandsons outside the house, because they wouldn't pay for protection any more.

Only one of the woman's grandchildren made it back to her. Every other male in the family had been killed. He youngest son was the last to die, and the last name on Ron's list.

"People are saying to her to find the British," Jalil said, "always bad things happen and the village all talk of finding the British because they try to stop Aurors. She's crying because you came, and because you came too late."

"Fucking hell," Ron whispered to himself as he sat down, holding a shaking hand to his mouth to keep any other inappropriate obscenities from coming out.

"I tell her they stop you, you can not do anything any more, and that you have baby. I tell her you have baby."

"I...I'd still...I would've..." Ron didn't know what he'd have done if he'd have known about this a week earlier, two, three.

The woman cried harder, wailing at Jalil.

"They came," Jalil translated as he attempted to comfort the elderly woman, "they took everything, they took her sons and their sons, beat her with broom handles."

Then Jalil gasped and moved back. The woman stood up, shakily, and took off her torn robe. She stood naked in front of them, displaying the livid purple bruises that marked her entire body, some wounds were still bleeding.

"Tell her," Ron said his voice scratchy like sandpaper, "tell her I'm sorry." He turned to the grandson. "Why has nobody healed her?"

Jalil asked the question of the young man and Ron understood the answer he was being given just from the accompanying mime.

"Their wands were snapped."

Ron drew his wand, slowly, paused long enough for the old woman to stop cringing and sobbing, and then set about healing every one of her injuries. When he was done he pulled her robe back over her and took what money he had from his pockets. The woman wouldn't take it saying the same phrase over and over again.

"She says money for baby, keep money for baby."

Ron put his money away, understanding instantly how she felt, but tossed one gold coin to the woman's grandson when she wasn't looking. Just enough to buy some food for the two of them, and maybe a second-hand wand for him.

They flew home in silence. Ron refused to let Jalil go to his temporary lodgings, insisting he sleep in the living room again, and then he went into his bedroom. He checked the baby was asleep, leaned down into the cot and kissed her fluffy hair, then started to undress.

Hermione watched him and pulled back the covers as he slid into bed. She opened her arms, let him crawl into her side and hide his face in her hair, and then held him while he cried.

She stayed awake until after the weeping had ended, after he'd calmed himself down, and long after he'd finally fallen asleep. She held him to her and listened to him breathing, worrying herself sick because there had always been one thing that could debilitate her husband at a moment's notice.

That one thing was the psychological switch inside his head that would turn off all the lights and unleash all the self loathing demons he didn't think anybody knew about.

He was the boy who would always fight the bullies, bigger and larger in number than him, but he was also the boy who would silently stew and then snap. You could call him moody but when you came to know him better you saw it for what it was. He would fight an army, any army, who banded against him, but when he turned against himself he rarely fought back.

He needed a Felix Felicis moment, or a person he respected telling him he was worth fighting for.

Hermione kissed him through his hair and whispered into the top of his head.

"Every day I was pregnant with Rose I couldn't wait for her to meet you because I got to give somebody the most wonderful gift I could imagine. I got to give her you as her first ever example of a man." She kissed him again, stroking his hair. "You're everything I told you you could be and became so much more than that. I love you. I love how much you care."

He shifted in his sleep and she held him, protectively.

"I love you."

The following morning she woke up as soon as Ron moved to get out of bed.

"Where are you going?" She demanded.

"For a piss," he said, sleepily pointing towards the bathroom.

"Okay," she said as she sat up in bed and watched him go.

Rose was kicking her legs and chatting to herself. Hermione slid out of bed and checked on her. The baby blew bubbles at her and then looked grumpy as the dribble was wiped from her mouth.

"Mummy's going to warm your bottle, all right?"

She smiled and then padded away to the kitchen. The toilet flushed and then the bathroom door opened. Ron appeared in the doorway, in mid stretch, and then smiled at her through his dishevelled fringe.

"Rose all right?"

"Fine, talking to herself again."

He chuckled and scratched behind his ear.

"Jal still asleep?"

"I think so."

He wandered over and stepped behind her, sliding his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder as he watched her prepare Rose's bottle.

"I was in late last night, sorry."

"That's fine," she said, pausing in case he was going to say more about it, "I was still up anyway."

"Yeah," he said, in a low tone, squeezing her a little more.

She finished making up the bottle, then tested the temperature on her wrist. Ron let her go as she turned in his arms and stepped to one side to reach for the bread bin.

"Toast?"

"Eggs," she said, abruptly, "I was going to make eggs."

"Scrambled eggs on toast?" Ron suggested.

She smiled at him.

"Genius."

He bit his lip as he smiled and turned away to slice some bread. She carried the bottle through to the cot and held it, patiently, while Rose found her grip on either side of it. She held it between both hands and then lifted her legs and tipped the end up with her feet. Hermione laughed and turned to return to Ron in the kitchen.

She jumped as she saw him standing behind her, then forced a laugh and gestured to their daughter behind her.

"She's holding the bottle like a monkey again."

Ron stepped forward and hugged her. She froze for a moment and then clung back in return.

"Sorry," he mumbled into her hair.

"You have nothing to apologise for."

"Thanks," he said as he let her go and stood back, holding her hands, "toast's on. Want me to make a start on the eggs or...?"

"I'll do it, you watch the toast."

"I don't need to watch the toast," he said as they walked back to the kitchen, hand in hand, "I make perfect toast."

"You make overdone toast."

"I don't burn it."

"I didn't say you burnt it, I said you overdo it. I like it a light golden colour."

"Well, you're getting it brown and crunchy," Ron teased as he shoved her with his hips.

She laughed and they had a genial breakfast together before Jalil interrupted to bid them good morning and then excuse himself to have a shower. Ron carried the plates to the sink and then cleared his throat as he turned around.

"Want me to dry?" Hermione offered, hoping he'd take the weight off his mind but not wanting to push him too hard.

"You didn't send that letter to the Prophet did you?"

"No, I told you, in the cold light of day it was a really bad idea."

"But you could get something on a page of the paper, right?"

"If you paid for a page of advertising space, yes."

"How much would that cost?"

"The Prophet, it'd be affordable, the Quibbler would do it for free." Hermione rose from her chair and looked at him, anxiously. "Ron, what are you thinking of?"

He rubbed the side of his nose and then reached along the kitchen counter for a folded piece of paper. He handed it to her. Hermione unfolded the paper and read a printed list of names, then Ron's handwritten notes on the reason each person was arrested.

"What is this?"

"That's all the people who got executed the other night," he said, folding his arms, almost hugging himself, "I went to see all the families yesterday and found out about them. I want an obituary for them all. Something about the British Ministry offering their condolences too."

She looked at him. This was the man who put his shoes and socks on the dead body of a free house elf. She'd never been prouder than that moment to have taken his name.

"It'll be in tomorrow's paper, and I'll see if I can get Kingsley to have it be an official notice too."

He looked happier at this.

"Cool, thanks."

He turned back to start doing the washing up. Hermione looked at him, fondly, and then realised just how many traumatic encounters he must have experienced during the previous day. No wonder he was so devastated.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"Yeah, love you too."

"No Ron, I _love_ you."

"I did mean it when I said it back y'know?"

She laughed and shook her head. He gave her a 'I married a mad woman' eye roll and then went back to the washing up.

---

Ron and Jalil sat with their hoods up, outside a cafe, and waited for a wizard in ostentatious robes to leave the Wizarding bank of Nakhchivan.

When they spotted him Ron got to his feet and broke into a jog behind him, until he was alongside, and then slowed his pace to match the stout man. He lowered his hood and began to speak as if they were in a walking meeting.

"I have a dossier for you," Ron passed him the folder Hermione had helped him to prepare, "you might want to look it over when you get back to your office."

"What? A-Auror Weasley?" The Sunflower yellow robed man broke his short stride and ran his grabby fingers over the black and gold detailed braid decorating the front of his bright robe.

"Take it then," Ron nudged the dossier into the man's hands and then looked him up and down with a bemused shake of the head. "Are you the Minister of Agriculture or Widow Twanky?"

"I er...Minister of Agriculture."

Ron bit back his laugh and simply nodded.

"Good, you can deal with issues of land rights and tenant's rights and resolve an issue highlighted in my report about tricking people into dedicating a decade to making arid land profitable, then turfing them out with no home or job or even no life."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the squirming Minister said, glancing around for a passing Auror to call upon.

"Of course you don't, you've been busy hiring blind tailors to make these things," Ron picked at the flap of one of the man's garish sleeves, "that's why I gave you a dossier. I can't go into the Ministry any more so I figured I'd do your job for you."

He glanced back towards the bank.

"Had a considerable windfall did you? Sold some verdant land maybe? I hope you paid taxes on that. Better make sure your repossessions and sales are all legitimate because we both know what the Aurors do to law breakers and tax evaders."

"Er..."

"But in case you had too much on your plate today I went ahead and submitted your recent purchases and profits to the tax department. They should be waiting for you in your office."

The man looked as if he was about to be sick.

"Because no matter how corrupt a government is," Ron said, backing away and raising his hood once again, leaving only his grin visible, "the tax man always does his job properly."

He and Jalil merged into the crowd and left the Minister of Agriculture shitting himself within his hideous robes.

"You are sure you want to do this?" Jalil asked, worried.

"What else can I do?" Ron said, his mirth leaving him immediately.

"But every time you get over them with one they crush you again."

"Get one over on them," Ron corrected. "So what? I'm just supposed to give up, shut up, and pack up?"

"Is just," Jalil frowned, "Ministers are like monsters in myth. You cut head off and another grow back in its place."

"That's how it is all over the world, Jal. I'm not kidding myself that people are going to get their land back. I know full well this practice will continue within minutes of that preening ponce getting replaced. The point is I did something. I got rid of someone. I didn't just shrug and say, they always win so why bother fighting. Maybe the next family will try that."

"These people aren't protected like you."

"And they never will be while nobody bothers," Ron said, bitterly. "Maybe the next Minister of Agriculture will pay taxes on everything they do. Pay taxes and leave records, leave tax records and then try to deny you took land and made big money the Ministry don't know about."

"If they have to pay tax on everything they won't take so much?"

"That's the idea," Ron said with a huff, "whether it actually works is another thing."

"Who next?" Jalil said as he pulled out the dossiers Ron and Hermione had compiled all day previously.

"Somebody thick," Ron said leaning over to scan the names, "somebody thick who's scared of big words."

Ron underestimated a cooperative manager's intelligence when he approached him to discuss the fact that his 'by the people for the people' business was really a lynch mob for hire.

People would work together and as soon as the Aurors started to lean on one member the group of poorly paid workers would either back away, leaving them to fight alone, or join in for a tempting payment. Recently every man in the village had been paid three gold coins each to burn down a Broomsmith's business because the witch who owned it refused to pay for Auror protection.

Using the same people who were being victimised to do the dirty work was an unexpected blow to Ron's idea that everybody was against the injustice equally.

The cooperative manager was extremely smug as he told Ron and Jalil the story. He knew that Ron wasn't about to report a whole village of impoverished people for turning on their friends and neighbours for money.

"You're very sure of yourself." Ron said to the man as he cleared his nose and gobbed into a bucket at the side of his desk, revoltingly.

"I have to be." The manager said, hands locked over his round belly.

"But how can you be sure the people won't band together and rise up against you?"

"Because they know the way things really are, not your ideal world."

"And how are things _really_?"

"What it comes down to is this, you come here for a day and tell them to change the country, but then you go and I'll still be here tomorrow." The man smirked and sat back in his creaking chair. "I'll be here and you won't."

The following day, Ron _was_ there. He came back with Jalil and Zaliha.

He dragged the manager out by the neck of his robes and threw him to the members of the cooperative.

"You're one of them now, all equals!" Ron yelled as the man struggled to his feet from within the small cloud of dust rising around him.

"You are going to manage us now?" The man sputtered aand then laughed. He looked to the others to join in his derision but nobody did.

"I've appointed a new manager, somebody who has run a business and run it without bowing down to the Aurors."

"_You_ are an Auror, why should we bow down to _you_?" the man pointed at Ron with a finger that shook with anger.

"Because I'm not making a regime change for my own profit, or ego, or advancement," Ron shouted, "Jal, translate this for all of them in Russian, Zaliha you do it in Azerbaijani."

Jalil gulped but Zaliha stepped forward, ready to pass on Ron's words.

"Nakhchivan is a signatory to the International Wizarding Rights Convention, and one member nation has a duty to force compliance on another, that's what I'm doing. As a representative of the British Ministry of Magic, I am telling you and this is an order, do not persecute your own people for money! If the Aurors come then let them do it, see if they do it, see if they have the authority rather than assuming they do."

"You judge these people for taking a bonus?" The former manager said, still on his knees. "They have nothing!"

"But you do, right? You said these people, not us. You have more than them do you? What kind of shared community business is that?" Ron spat.

As Zaliha and Jalil translated this the crowd began to stir.

"I've appointed a new manager for you, somebody you know to be fair and somebody you know will stand up to the Aurors." Ron gestured to a fifty year old witch, standing outside the remains of her burnt down business. "This woman is your new manager. If you take money to attack her then you don't get paid the money you worked for. Sound fair?"

Ron was furious but trying his best to reign in his temper. The translations ended. Ron waited for somebody to argue back, nobody did.

"I've been poor!" he suddenly bellowed, "And I _never_ turned on my neighbours, my friends, for money. If you really want to know why you have so little, ask this man." Ron pointed to the former manager.

Jalil translated and then moved towards Ron to encourage him to leave now. Zaliha was just finishing, pointing at the man herself. Jalil called for her to come to them in Azerbaijani and she joined them. Ron turned and nudged them both on the backs to walk with him. They almost had to jog to keep up with his fast, long strides.

"Don't look 'round, I was making it up," Ron said, hastily.

Zaliha laughed but Jalil looked terrified.

"The Wizarding Rights Convention stuff, it's all bollocks, whatever you do don't look back."

There was a ripple of applause coming from the crowd and all three of them couldn't help themselves, they looked back. They saw the witch taking her place before them, as their new manager, and forgiving them for what they had done to her.

Ron and Jalil climbed onto their brooms and Zaliha stood between them, looking at Ron. He frowned at her.

"You're not virgin are you?"

"I never said I was," Ron defended himself.

"That woman in court, she your lover?"

"Yes, she's my wife too."

Zaliha smiled and nodded, then climbed onto the back of Jalil's broom. They took off into the fly zone and headed back to the capital.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

Zaliha insisted that Ron and Jalil take a detour on the way home, to fly alongside the mountains. Ron loved the feeling of the mountain air in his lungs, Jalil kept complaining that he was cold, and Zaliha pointed down to a glow on the ground beneath the fly zone.

"Down there, go down there!"

Ron thought it looked a lot like the encampment he'd seen when he'd flown to Julfa. Hasmik had walked beneath the fly zone, totally invisible to fliers overhead, but the fires lit by those bedding down for the night weren't so stealthy.

"Why are we landing here?" Ron called across to Zaliha.

"It is safe and there are no Aurors, you both need to relax with the Bedouin."

"Muggles?" Jalil asked, only flying slowly down to the encampment, cautious.

"No, wizards and witches. You will like them, Ron, they say '_My brothers and I against my cousins, then my cousins and I against strangers_'."

"That sounds like they don't want some bloke from another country dropping in unannounced." Ron began to circle the camp, with Jalil, rather than land.

"No, it means they will protect their own. Come, we land."

With a look of foreboding, Ron and Jalil landed just outside the camp, close to the mountains. Zaliha dismounted Jalil's broom and ran towards the camp.

"You know the Bedouin?" Ron asked his friend.

"Not my people," Jalil said as he propped his broom over his shoulder.

"Know anything about their magic?" Ron asked, climbing off his own broom.

"It's old, the old spells nobody uses any more. Nothing more powerful."

Zaliha came bounding out, leading an older wizard over to them, a large grin on her face.

"I tell them you enemy of the Aurors, fighting the Ministry, telling people to stand together. He welcomes you to have tea and eat with them."

Zaliha took Ron's hand and dragged him towards the man, at least twenty years his elder, while Ron spoke to her through the corner of his mouth.

"Zaliha, why have we stopped here?"

She brought Ron's hand and the Bedouin wizard's hand together and smiled.

"They will meet you, they will know you, you will be safe in the desert and the mountains and anywhere you see their camp. Aurors don't come here, Ministry don't come here, you have a place now."

"I think she trying to give you protection," Jalil said as he leaned in behind Ron.

"Doesn't hurt to have people on my side," Ron muttered.

The Bedouin wizard spoke to Ron as he waved him into a flimsy looking tent.

"You eat, you drink, you rest," Zaliha interpreted before laughing, "he thinks you have been fasting because of your bones showing."

"My what?" Ron blurted.

"See your bones, your skeleton, under skin," Zaliha said as she pointed at Ron's hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his flying trousers. "He thinks you don't eat."

"Well he's about to learn a lesson about judging people by their appearances," Ron said, hungry enough to eat straight from the serving pot.

Sitting on the ground around several pots, Ron hesitated as he brought the tea cup to his lips. Everybody frowned at him.

"Sorry, I was warned not to drink water if I don't know where it's come from."

"The springs aren't safe, this water is good, it clean and boiled." Jalil said with a nod.

Ron sipped at the tea while Zaliha explained his hesitation. There then followed a conversation about the naturally occurring cyanide in the Nakhchivan springs. This went on until the pots were taken off the fire and the contents ladled out, then presented to them.

Ron's enthusiasm faded as he was faced with splats of beige and yellow coloured goo on paper plates. He cautiously scraped some of each blob onto an empty cardboard disc and then looked for a fork or a spoon to eat with. A wrinkled Bedouin witch dropped a brick of cake looking bread, bright yellow in colour, on top of the plate of merging splats. Jalil had the same problem but went for it first, dipping a corner of the yellow bread into one of the glutinous splodges.

The Bedouin wizard offered Ron a round flatbread and he took it with a smile. Zaliha was chattering to them the whole time and the more she talked, the more they demanded he eat and drink.

"They honoured to have you here," she said with a wide smile, before turning to Jalil, "and you, they honour your bravery."

Jalil looked humbled at this and gulped down his tea, hiding behind the cup, as Ron smiled and slapped him on the back.

As the evening progressed Ron began to think they might be right about his boniness, as his buttocks were protesting at having been sat on the hard ground for so long. His gangly legs weren't too impressed at being crossed either. An old man saw that he was fidgeting more and more and rose to his feet, offering his hand to help Ron up, to lead him towards the edge of the mountains.

He was talking to Ron but he couldn't understand a word. The man paused to lightly hold Ron's head between his hands and stare into his eyes. Ron stiffened, uncomfortably, before the man gave a sad sigh. He moved his hand to Ron's chest and patted it.

"He has seen your heart," Zaliha explained, standing between the tent flaps.

Ron jumped back from the man on hearing this. He felt sick and angry and scared all at once.

"Ron?" Zaliha stepped forward, looking concerned.

"It's time to go," Ron said as he hurried away to pick up his broom.

Zaliha and the Bedouin wizard exchanged some words and then they both looked at him as he prepared to mount his broom. She walked towards him, anxiously.

"What is wrong?"

"Jal, I'm going," Ron called into the tent.

The Bedouin wizard moved closer, saying something to him while gesturing to the mountains, as Jalil came running out with his wand directed at the sky.

"What happen?"

"He say you should go to the mountain, snake mountain."

"I am _not_ a snake!" Ron snarled.

Zaliha didn't understand what had upset him and Jal was desperately trying to prepare for flight before he could take off and leave him behind.

"Wait for me," Zaliha said as she ran into the tent to gather her things.

"Take her home, Jal," Ron said, before kicking off from the ground and vanishing into the darkness.

---

"Globus hystericus," Hermione said to herself as she tapped her pencil against the two day old copy of the Prophet that had arrived that evening.

"Go on, go wild, use ink for once."

She jumped and turned to see Ron standing in the doorway, broom in hand. She beamed at him and got out of her seat to hug him.

"Pencils are perfect for crosswords, it's not the end of the world if you put the wrong letters in boxes," she said before reaching up and kissing him on the lips.

"You're never wrong," Ron said as he stood with his arms away from his sides, letting her take off his flying gear.

"If you prepare for it you proceed with more confidence that a mistake won't matter. I'm sure you play a second game of chess in your head sometimes, because when somebody does catch you out you still have an eight move back up plan in your head to fall back on."

"No, you're just that crap at chess," he said with a laugh.

She yanked his cloak off, roughly, and he chuckled to himself. After hanging up his things she shoved him into the living room and then backwards again into a chair. She sat before him and held out both hands, ready for him to lift his leg and rest his foot in her lap.

He did as expected and she unlaced his flying boots, one after the other, and set them neatly down on the floor by the skirting board. She climbed into her husband's lap and kissed him deeply.

She leaned back, with a contented hum, and smiled down at him as he licked his lips.

" Lump in your throat," he said, looking up at her and stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"No, I'm just happy," she said, leaning in to take one of his fingers in her mouth and suck it, playfully.

"No, I mean, your crossword clue." He interlaced his fingers with hers. "The feeling of having a lump in the throat, caused by muscle tension, due to emotional reasons and not by an actual foreign body, globus hystericus."

She stared down at him in amazement.

"Always the look of surprise," she said to herself.

He grinned.

"See, I can offer more than just Quidditch answers."

"How do you, how did you know...how?"

"Madam Pomfrey," he said with a shrug, "I was having a bit of trouble swallowing after that time I got poisoned, remember that?"

"No Ron, I forgot because it was so insignificant," she said, sarcastically.

"Well anyway," he continued, bashfully, "I kept telling her to check that the bezoar wasn't stuck and making her look for it. She never saw anything and asked if it had felt like that since I woke up and I said that it had only started forcing its way back up when you came to see me and said we were friends again."

She looked at him with glistening eyes and he shrugged.

"Yeah okay, I know now," he mumbled, embarrassed, "she told me to stop worrying and that I had globus hystericus. It happened again during Dumbledore's funeral and I went back and told her I had it again and she teased the shit out of me and then told me what it meant."

Hermione laughed so hard she thought she might pee. Ron was blushing until he suddenly blinked and looked shiftily from side to side.

"Er, thinking about this has kind of reminded me," he said, avoiding her eyes, "that list we have where we tell each other everybody we've kissed? I left her off, sorry."

"What?" Hermione blurted through her laughter. "Madam Pomfrey?"

"Just on the cheek!" Ron protested, as she howled with laughter on his lap. "She kissed me on the cheek, once. Said I was sweet or something."

He looked very grumpy at having been described as sweet. Hermione cupped his face, kissed his pouting lips, and stroked her hand across his hair until his sulk was forgotten. They sighed as their lips parted again and Ron held her to him.

"I really miss you being able to come with me out there."

She squeezed him tightly.

"I miss it too. I bet you wouldn't be so bad if you had Harry, you've always loved running off with Harry."

"Yeah but Harry's not as good at this," he said as he kissed her neck and then rested his head on her shoulder.

They nestled in the chair together and idly toyed with each other. He played with her hair around one of his fingers and she danced her fingertip on a slalom around the freckles on his forearm.

"So did you have a good day?" Hermione smiled as she admired the way the fine fair hairs on his arm caught the light.

When he didn't answer she gave him another tight squeeze and then shifted back a little to force his gaze.

"Lose another battle?"

"No, I did okay, talked out of my arse but bluffed a win."

"It's a captivating arse, I'd listen to it," she said with a smile.

He chuckled with her and then partially hid his face in the crook of her neck.

"Do you want to talk?"

He shook his head.

"You used to come home and tell me everything, rant or grumble or complain about your day. You'd tell me a funny thing that happened or a stupid thing somebody said." Hermione craned her neck so she could see him. "Now you come home to hide."

"It's fine, it was a good day, we beat that bloke who was smug to me. The cooperative manager, we overthrew him and we had a laugh and we flew..." Ron stopped.

"And?"

"And I'm allowed one secret."

She gulped and pulled his face into her neck again, letting him hide away. He sank into her and they clung to each other in silence.

She hated that damn secret.

---

The day the full page obituary and words of condolence were printed in the paper, Ron was requested to join a conference of Ministers in London via Floo. The only problem was, the Floo was still inactive.

He discreetly asked if he could use the fireplace at the Bulgarian Auror's flat but he was told the fireplace was being monitored and might be sealed off for him too.

Nobody else Ron knew had an international connection.

Ron decided to send word that he would miss the meeting with a Patronus, only something was wrong and he couldn't make one strong enough. He spent the afternoon trying and his flimsy wisps of silver gradually reduced to a faint glow from the wand tip. Ron concluded that something was in the food and the water that was damaging his magic.

Hermione found him throwing away all the food when she arrived back home from a trip to the children's pool with Rose, she was determined her daughter learn to swim as early as possible.

"Did we get another visit?" She frowned.

"Look at this," Ron said as he flicked his wand, "_Expecto Patronum!"_ The wand tip glowed white and then faded to nothing again.

"You think... What do you think?"

"They've done something to dampen my magic!" Ron said as he swept an entire shelf full of food into the rubbish bag he was holding. "For all I know we've all been poisoned."

"_Expecto Patronum!_" Hermione said, and a silver otter bounded from the tip of her wand and encircled Ron. "I'm fine."

"Well I'm not!" Ron snapped again.

"Ron, stop it," she grabbed his arm just as he was about to sweep away all the condiments, "there's probably a perfectly logical explanation for this."

"What? Tell me what?"

"Well, what positive thought are you using?" She said off the top of her head, and then waited for his answer.

Ron didn't say a word. He simply looked into space, then into the rubbish bag, and then at Hermione.

"Ron?"

He drew his wand again and paused for a second before swishing it.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" The silver dog burst from the tip of his wand and began to run circles around them.

Ron looked at Hermione, as if he'd just forgotten his daughter's name.

"It's all right, I used to mess it up all the time didn't I? I always overlooked the fact it was supposed to be made with positive energy," she said as she rubbed her hand up and down his arm.

"I was trying to conjure one while thinking about..."

"The reason you needed it," she finished his sentence fore him. "Take the afternoon off. Just the rest of today, have a break from it and watch some mediocre television with us."

Ron suddenly regained his focus.

"I can't I'm late for a meeting," he said as he turned to his Patronus, "go to Harry, right now, and tell him my communications are all blocked and I can't attend any meetings by Floo. I need the Foreign Minister to put some pressure on from his side, I'm being walled in here."

The dog ran off and Ron huffed and dragged his hand over his hair.

"What was the meeting about?" Hermione tilted her head to one side and watched him, shrewdly.

"I dunno but the letter came with the 2am edition of the Prophet."

Ron handed her the paper, already turned to the full page obituary for the falsely imprisoned and executed, then stood back with his arms folded.

She skimmed it and then winced a little.

"Looks like the Ministry couldn't endorse it with an official statement. Not that surprising though, they're hardly going to piss off the people in charge when we're trapped here."

"It won't be them," Ron mumbled, "it'll be the Foreign Minister. When I was sending weekly reports back he never responded to any of the issues I raised. I know he read them because when I asked for a Ministry approved gift to present to the departing Italian Diplomatic Auror I got an engraved crystal bowl the next morning."

"Well, it's not really something he can advise you on is it? He can't make changes from over there."

"But he did the same in Spain, ignored every report, no communication, the only time I hear from him is when he's telling me I've got to move."

"So he's one of the old style Ministers who just sit at a desk getting people to file things for him, it doesn't mean he's endorsing what's going on over here."

"I didn't care where the food came from at school. I wasn't bothered about who made my bed, who lit the fires, how well they were treated or if they were paid." Ron looked at her and sighed. "I wasn't endorsing how the House Elves were treated. Did you let me off the hook just because I didn't endorse it?"

"Don't take on our Ministry as well as this one, Ron, you'll just be banging your head against a brick wall."

"Our Ministry have to answer to Kingsley, the public, the press, the Wizengamot," Ron listed, "who wants to be a Foreign Minister? Who cares about being Foreign Minister? It's a job they give to the lazy old blokes before they retire."

"Where is this going?"

"He moves me around for a quiet life. He ignores my reports in every respect other than when a Minister has a birthday and needs a token from our Ministry. He advised Kingsley not to make the condolences official because then he'd have to deal with pissed off Nakhchivan authorities."

"If there really was an issue with it the Ministry could have prevented the Prophet printing anything at all. Kingsley pushed this through for you, he's on your side."

"Yeah, Kingsley briefed me for the moves. It's not his job to do that. He did it because otherwise we'd be bounced all over the world with nothing but a stack of paperwork to go on."

"You're frustrated, you just need to rest. Let's take a couple of days just for ourselve-"

There was a flash of light between them and a silver Llama skidded to a halt in the middle of the living room.

"Auror Weasley, you've lost the confidence of your senior line of management, and as a consequence of your not being available for your own evaluation, I have to recommend you withdraw from your post."

"They're transferring me again?" Ron frowned at Hermione.

"We have prepared a letter of resignation on your behalf. It will arrive via Ministry registered owl sometime in the next ten to twelve hours. It's a standard letter saying that you don't feel your talents are best suited for your present role."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Hermione looked as if she was going to cry, but then she looked as if she wanted to set her Patronus onto the talking llama.

Ron rubbed his hands over his face and then began to pace up and down.

"So I've been sacked? Have I resigned or am I sacked?"

"They're telling you to resign but you don't have to," Hermione said as the llama faded away. "I'll represent you. This is lazy politics at best, they are suggesting you resign because they can't sack you. This person is nothing but your 'line manager'. Kingsley wouldn't allow it as Minister. Harry wouldn't allow it as chief Auror. I kn-"

A silver stag exploded through the wall and walked, serenely, towards Ron.

"You'll be getting a letter from the Foreign Minister. Tear it up when it gets there. That fucker's getting an early retirement, Kingsley's seeing to it now, you answer to me until a new Foreign Minister is elected, understand?"

Ron stared at the stag, speaking with his best friend's angry voice.

"I'll get that Floo working if it's the last thing I bloody do. Remember, you answer to nobody but me or Kingsley. I mean it about the letter. Don't read it. Don't open it. I'm telling you, _ordering_ you not to read it. Stay by the fireplace, mate."

The stag bowed and then dissolved into vapours.

"What the fu-" Ron began.

A silver lynx pounced onto the back of the armchair and Hermione jumped, tightly wound because of all the interruptions.

"Ron, don't pay any attention to the letter the _former_ Foreign Minister just sent you. Don't pay any attention to any communication from him. He has taken early retirement, not a day too soon, and Harry's your contact for now. We're putting some pressure on them to let you back in the Ministry and unlock that bloody Floo connection. Stay with your family for now. We can't tell if the Nakhchivans know you're unprotected yet."

"Unprotected, what does he mean, unprotected?" Hermione said, alarmed.

"If they don't have him yet, send your contact, Jalil Araz, away. The Nakhchivan Minister's been sent a message telling him he's dismissed as of now. He has no diplomatic protection anymore. They'll go for him. You are still safe, Hermione and baby Rose too, don't do anything rash. Just get Jalil out of the city if he's with you."

The lynx circled a couple of times before dispersing into nothingness.

"Shit, Jal." Ron paled and then looked to the sofa, which was empty.

"Did he stay? I thought he stayed again." Hermione said as she ran to the bathroom to see if he was in there.

"He didn't, I told him to take Zaliha home," Ron said as he fisted his hair in his hands and paced up and down, trying to catch up on everything that had just happened.

"He goes out to buy us things in the mornings, maybe he's just shopping," Hermione said, looking to the front door.

Ron drew his wand.

"_Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!_ Fuck, why can't I do this anymore?" He threw his wand across the room and kicked the wall.

"I'll do it, you calm down," Hermione said as she forced him into a chair.

"I'm sacked, but I'm not sacked, and Jal's gone, and he can't ever come back again, but he doesn't _know_ he can't come back because he's not here, because I fucked off and left him in the desert, and I can't leave the building without him to go and tell him not to come back, and I can't cast a Patronus anymore because...because...bec-"

"Ron!" Hermione knelt before him and gripped his arms.

"I can't make a Patronus," he said to her, shakily. "Hermione, I think I'm-"

She climbed onto his lap, holding his face firmly between her hands, and kissed him hard.

"Try again," she whispered.

He frowned at her. She kissed him again.

"Try it again."

"Uh..."

She almost managed to kiss him passionately a_nd_ glare at him at the same time.

"Now try it again!"

"My wand's on the floor," he said, looking up into her flushed face.

Hermione's eyes flicked over to where he had thrown his wand in frustration. He rested his forehead against hers and relaxed a little, even managing half a smile.

"I know what you're doing, and thanks."

"Remember you have a good life, a good family, good friends. Remember the good things."

"I'm ruining people's lives, Herm-" She clamped her hand over his mouth and looked into his sad eyes.

"I sent my Patronus to Jal. He'll be safe. We'll be okay. Everything will be all right."

He nodded his head, her hand still over his mouth.

---

_Item one - Visiting brothels while on duty._

_Item two - Hiring prostitutes and pretending they are being paid to interpret Ministry business._

_Item three - Being drunk at work._

_Item four - Threatening the Minister for Magic at wand point._

_Item five -_

"What are you doing?" Hermione snatched the letter from Ron's hands and tore it up. "Harry told you not to open this, he ordered you, he said not to read it."

Ron hung his head.

"I needed to know what they were telling them back home," he mumbled.

"No you don't. You don't _need_ that at all." Hermione said, throwing the pieces of the letter into the empty fireplace. "It's not worth the parchment it's written on!"

"I wanted to find out if our lot was as bad as theirs," Ron shouted back at her. "I wanted to know I wasn't being a hypocrite, slagging off the government here when we do the same back home."

"Of course we don't," Hermione said, horror struck, "the days after Scrimgeour's assassination were like that bu-"

"We have people who don't care, we have people who don't work, we have people who will get rid of anybody who rocks the boat."

"One person, and he's gone."

"But why am I even staying? Is it really that bad an idea that I resign?" Ron's statement dumbfounded Hermione. "What good am I doing here?"

"You've been changing things, you've been winning battles."

"If I'm winning they re-write the rules. They always get me, _always_, nobody wins against them!" Ron ranted.

"Stop it," Hermione was on the verge of tears now, "stop talking like that. You sound like you did before you walked out on us because of that bloody Horcrux."

"Yeah, that sound is the sound of failure," Ron said with a bitter smile, "you married me so you should be used to it by now."

He turned and grabbed his broom, then strode towards the door. Hermione chased him along the hall, Rose beginning to cry at the sound of raised voices.

"Don't you dare go, not again, you're not even dressed for flying!"

"I'm dressed perfectly for flying, just not falling," Ron said with a cold grin.

She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back.

"You can't go out there on your own. Think about what Jal said."

"Jal's gone and better off for it," Ron snapped. "He might even get to carry on living now that he's nothing to do with me."

Ron wrenched his arm free and stormed out. Hermione started crying, desperate to follow, but the cries of her daughter inside the flat kept her standing in the open doorway.

Ron walked out onto the street, stood with his broom gripped tightly in his hand, and then turned and marched back inside. He climbed the stairs, walked to his front door, pushed it open and threw his broom down onto the hall floor.

Hermione ran through from the living room and stared at him, her face tear-streaked. He looked at her, head bowed, through his fringe.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She ran to him and flung her arms around his neck, sobbing so hard she ached.

"Don't let this happen again," she begged him, through sniffs and shaky breaths, "you don't have to tell me anything. You don't have to talk about it. Just don't go away like before."

He gripped the back of her top with both hands clenched into tight fists around the fabric.

"I don't know what to do."

"We wait for word from Harry, okay? We don't go anywhere, we stay here, and we stay together."

He nodded.

"Promise me!" She shook him as they hugged.

"Promise."

Hermione didn't want to let go of him but her attempt to walk him back into the living room, with her shuffling backwards and him stooped right over, wasn't working out so she had to surrender and step away.

"Thank you for coming back."

"I'm really sorry."

"You came back," she said as she grabbed him about the wrist and pulled him with her, "it's all okay because you came back straight away."

"I didn't want to leave," he said as he traipsed along behind her. "I don't want to but I just... This pla-"

She kissed him and then walked him all the way into the bedroom.

"You're having a sleeping draught and getting some rest."

"I can't," he said, shoulders falling, "you won't be able to wake me until it wears off and I already missed one meeting."

She kissed him again.

"Stop panicking," she ordered, "we'll just lie down. The two of us, we'll lay together in bed and Rose will be in her cot and we'll all just relax."

Ron sat on the edge of the bed and drew in a shaky breath, his hand rubbing against his face.

"I'm supposed to be a man now, a grown up, I'm supposed to be an Auror for fuck's sake."

"You're supposed to be my Ron and you are." Hermione said, fighting back a second wave of tears. "You're _my Ron _who cares about people. You're _my Ron _who stands up to bullies and you're _my Ron _who makes me think I'm beautiful and funny and sexy and worth arguing with."

When Hermione had been a little girl she had seen an old lady drop her pension book as she left the Post Office. The tiny little Hermione Granger had picked it up and chased after the lady with it, running straight into the road and causing an oncoming car to have to slam on the breaks to stop just in time. Her father had been furious with her. He'd dragged her to the kerb and bellowed in to her frightened face. Later on he'd explained that he had been angry because he was so scared of what could have happened.

Ron had a similar story. In the village after the first war there was a witch who was arrested as a Death Eater, the released after claiming she had been put under Imperius while doing her awful deeds. Molly and Arthur hadn't believed in the woman's innocence but kept their conversations to adult company. Shortly after new evidence emerged against her, Arthur Weasley had attempted to get her re-arrested but there were complications and all that happened was that the witch would scowl at them whenever she saw them shopping in the high street.

Ron was only three years old. He let go of his mother's hand to hit Fred back for tripping him, then stopped walking to look in a shop window, and then couldn't see any redheads anywhere. He'd got lost before, he was that kind of kid, and his parents had told him that if it happened he was to go into the nearest shop and tell the shopkeeper as all the shopkeepers knew them well.

Ron had walked into the Owl Post Office and, rather sweetly, joined the queue. The witch in front of him had turned and seen him waiting behind her. She asked him where his mummy and daddy were. He said that he'd got lost and was waiting to tell the man at the counter. The lady smiled at him, took his hand, and said she knew exactly where his mummy and daddy were.

As Ron was led out of the post office his mother and father were leading the family back down the street, looking for him. Ron never understood what happened next. All he knew was that his daddy shouted at him and smacked his bottom, making him cry, and his mummy punched the woman from the post office in the face.

He never saw the woman again after that.

His father had carried him all the way home, Ron grizzling all the way, and then sat him on the kitchen table to tell him off for a full five minutes about going off with strangers. At the end of his telling off, Arthur gave Ron a suffocating cuddle and then said he was sorry for hitting him. He said it lots of times. It was the only time either of his parents had ever raised a hand to him.

Fear can make a parent angry. How could their child frighten them so much and be so oblivious? How could they love somebody so much that a small incident could be more terrifying than anything they'd been prepared for.

Fear can make two people forgive each other. It can make them come together at last. It can make them kiss while they have the chance. Fear makes things 'now or never' and fear can shake people up so badly that they have to either fall apart or come together.

They almost fell to pieces, but now found themselves having frantic, _I'm sorry I scared you_ sex.

They collapsed in a sweaty heap, Hermione flattening Ron into the mattress beneath her, and lay like that for several minutes. Hermione rolled off him and lay at his side until he drifted off to sleep, then went to play with the baby in the living room. They played in front of the empty fireplace, hoping for green flames to burst through and Harry's face to appear. When Rose was occupied with the box one of her toys came in, Hermione drew her wand and ignited the torn up letter from Ron's former boss.

She knew why Harry had been adamant that Ron not even open it. Harry knew Ron as well as she did, and in one respect he knew much more, and if Ron could only speak to his friend and trusted council maybe he would come back to himself.

He couldn't conjure a Patronus anymore. That made Hermione's stomach clench painfully tight. If he couldn't produce a Patronus then that meant he couldn't find a single positive thought in his head.

She smiled at her daughter as she tried to roll inside the cardboard box.

"Daddy loves you so much," she whispered to the babbling baby, "we've got to show him he's not a curse on people."

Rose kicked her chubby little legs and started making her favourite sound.

"Da, da, da, da, da, da, da!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

There was a loud banging on the door. It made Ron jump out of bed and then have palpitations when he couldn't find his wand.

Hermione opened the bedroom door and handed him the baby. She had her wand at the ready.

"Where's my...?"

"Somewhere in your clothes, I'll answer and you take Rose."

"Wait," Ron called as the baby was thrust into his hands and the door was closed on him.

Hermione threw a shield across the door and then flung it open. A timid looking wizard in Ministry robes cowered and held out a folded piece of paper.

"The Polkovnik sent me," the man said, still fearful of what Hermione was going to do to him, "he say his men intercept wrong owl and have Auror Weasley letter. I give."

Hermione reached forward and snatched away the paper.

"You accidentally intercepted an owl meant for my husband?" Hermione hissed. "Did your Polkovnik accidentally read it too?"

"Uh..."

"You're just the tea boy aren't you?" Hermione said, bitterly. "They didn't bother sending anybody important."

"I er..."

"You tell your Polkovnik his inferiors aren't welcome at our door in future. Next time you 'accidentally' stun an owl, open a private correspondence and read it through from beginning to end, you bring it here yourself, tell him that."

She slammed the door and turned to see Ron sliding his wand in the waistband of his jeans, balancing Rose in the crook of his arm, and then holding her properly with both hands.

"What was that about?"

"You got a letter," she held it out to him and he took it between his teeth as he handed the baby over.

"Sssho," he began, before taking the letter from between his teeth, "owls knock now?"

"It went through the Ministry first." Hermione said, as casually as she could.

"They're reading my letters," Ron said with a nod, "so, best find out what they've already known about for hours.

He unfolded the letter and began to read. After a moment he paused to glance up at Hermione.

"Did you look at this?"

"No, I must be the only person in Nakhchivan not to have read it but, no I haven't."

"Harry says they've negotiated a fireplace I can use, for one hour every day, in the Polkovnik's office."

"What?"

"Apparently irreversible damage was done to our connection and they can't give us a replacement. How can they say if it's irreversible or not? They never sent anybody 'round to fix the bloody thing."

"But you're not allowed to go into the Ministry, how are you supposed to use the Floo?"

"I wait on the doorstep at my designated time and an Auror escort takes me up to the office and waits with me while I use the fireplace."

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione said, ignoring her daughter pulling hard at her hair.

Ron read the second page and then pulled out his wand again to tap it against the paper. There was a white fizzle of light around it and he looked to Hermione.

"Somebody took a copy of this, not surprising really, Harry's saying that they're having a meeting of all the higher ups to discuss refusing to do business with, or have a representative in, the country unless all blocks are removed."

"That's not going to happen while you're here."

"No, and it's pretty much insinuating that if they can't get me my diplomatic rights back I'll be shipped home. Well, that's what they want isn't it? They want me to go away."

"It's a win-win situation for them," Hermione sighed, "either we go home in protest of how they behave or you're sent home because they refuse to work with you."

"Harry does say some stuff about Kingsley reaching out to friendly nations to see if a mass withdrawal or International pressure will do any good." Ron handed her the two pages he'd already read.

"So they'll have copied that to give to the Minister so he can weigh up how many allies he can afford to lose."

"If other countries were going to stand on principle they'd have done it when Greece did. They won't do a bloody thing except tut loudly and then have a Firewhisky with the very people they disapprove of."

Ron stood and read the third page. He summarised it for Hermione as a basic, non disclosure reassurance from a penman who knew Ron probably wouldn't be the first to read the words.

"He can't say anything, he knows I might not even get my post," Ron sighed, "the only way they'd have passed this on to me would be for it to contain pretty much nothing."

He screwed up the last page and threw it away.

"Well, I'll be getting dressed and going to humiliate myself standing on the doorstep of the Ministry, waiting to be let in by mass murders."

Hermione watched her dejected husband drag his feet into the bedroom to change. She set Rose down in her bouncy chair and bit her lip as she looked at the balled up piece of paper in the bin.

Part of her was screaming. He'd lost his freedom and his privacy and there she was, contemplating taking the last page out of the bin and reading his letter.

Then again, it wasn't a private letter. Strangers had read every word of it. She kept telling herself this as she picked the ball of paper out of the bun and unfurled it. She saw the sentiments Ron had told her had been Harry's closing words, but then read the final sentence.

_Don__'t forget your anniversary, Hermione'll kill you if you don't get her a present, I can help you out if you've got a locket in mind._

Her heart fell.

Their anniversary wasn't for seven months.

---

As he was being escorted through the Ministry, Ron heard a rumour that Zaliha was going out with a Nakhchivan Auror. When he was presented to the Polkovnik and handed an urn of Floo powder he made a decision. He was either going to talk to Harry while the Minister listened in and used anything he said against him, or he could jump into the flames and go to the brothel to make sure Zaliha was okay.

The Polkovnik wasn't impressed at Ron's choice. Zaliha was even less so.

This could, in part, be because she was having sexual intercourse with a swarthy fat man wearing a leather gimp mask.

She jumped off the man on the bed and ran for it.

"What are you doing?" Ron said as he gave chase. "You said you were a virgin. You were _proud_ of being a virgin."

"Get away from me!" She said as she turned and ran through the silk and velvet draped doorways, from room to room.

"Zaliha!"

"I don't want to speak to you!" She snapped as he caught up with her and grabbed her by the elbow. She yanked it free and punched him on the chest.

"You go off, on your own, you leave me and Jalil and we hear nothing from you for days!"

"I sent Jal a Patronus, well my wife did, I couldn't b-"

"Why not?" She demanded.

"I just couldn't, okay?" Ron stepped back, knowing that when a woman was angry enough to hit him on sight they really don't need physical contact.

"I take you to Bedouin to protect you and you abandon me there, old man says he tries to tell you about dark shadow in heart and you go."

"That's why I had to go!" Ron yelled. "The last person who said they could see into my heart almost got me to kill my best friend. They see into your heart and then they try to posses you, Zaliha!"

"That not what he do, he try to bring light, healing. You flew away and leave us."

"I left you with Jal. You're safer with him than you are me."

"Don't I know it," she said with a bitter laugh.

"What?"

"Is expression I heard, like you ain't seen nothing yet."

"I know that, but what do you mean?"

"You don't contact me. You let everybody see me working with you and then you disappear!"

"I couldn't contact you, they've stopped me being able to contact anyone. Zaliha, I've been in desperate trouble."

"In _desperate_ trouble, ha!" She scoffed. "I been in desperate trouble myself and you weren't around."

"What happened, tell me?"

"What sort of trouble you think?" She looked at him and waited for him to guess, but he didn't. "Two Aurors."

"Two Aurors what?"

"Invite me to their building."

"Why did you go with them?" Ron said, in horror.

"Is that all you have to say?" She threw herself at him, angrily, beating his chest with both hands.

"Well, I've only just found out that you lied about being a prostitute." He threw his hands up and raked his hands through his hair. "Because I believed you I almost got sacked for employing you. I was paying a prostitute, Zaliha, with Ministry money!"

"I was never a prostitute before _you_ came!" She screamed. "I was going to be English teacher, interpreter, professional!"

"So you chucked that in to join the Ministry approved brothel?"

"You know nothing!" She screamed at him, fists flying again.

"So tell me."

She started sobbing.

"They rape me."

Ron felt as if his blood had just turned into molten lead, hardening in his veins and growing colder and heavier as it pulled his heart down through his guts.

"Wh-what? Oh Zaliha..."

She choked on her emotions before being able to go on.

"I say, 'not my virginity, please not my virginity', they rape me behind." She shuddered. "Then they take my virginity anyway."

Ron opened his mouth, lifted his arms a little, but he couldn't say sorry to her. Sorry wasn't enough. Sorry was cheap and dismissive. He let his arms hang, useless at his sides, as he slumped backwards against the wall.

"You say you fight for us, it means nothing, you can do nothing."

"I tried."

"What good are you," she began, still sobbing, "when you let your friends be hurt?"

"You," Ron could barely speak anymore, "you don't have to become a prostitute just because they took your virginity."

"The Aurors protect their favourites," she said, wiping her face.

"But this is no different to them charging people protection money. You shouldn't have to sleep with them for money just so they won't rape you for free."

"Shouldn't," she laughed, bitterly, "I _shouldn't_ be punished for helping you, but you have immunity. I don't know where Jalil is anymore, he just gone. You leave us and now you back and angry with me f-"

"No, no I'm not angry with you. For fuck's sake, Zaliha, of course I'm not angry with you."

"So why you come?"

"I heard about you seeing Aurors. I needed to talk to you."

"I don't need to talk to you." As she spoke she lifted her face in defiance, eyes shining but face dry of tears. "Aurors have power in this country, Aurors protect me, you only bring trouble."

She turned away from him and stormed off. He didn't follow. He thought he must look like the Grim to the people of Nakhchivan. See Auror Weasley and maybe you'll be lucky enough to drop dead on the spot. If not you'll have a long, painful death.

Either way you're doomed.

He left the brothel by the front door this time, he had no reputation to protect any more, and started walking.

Sometimes people, British or otherwise, forget just how small an island Britain is. It's very, very small in proportion to other countries. There are states in America that could swamp the whole British Isles. England, Scotland and Wales, three small countries sharing one small island.

People in Britain walk from place to place.

If you get stranded in Britain you sigh and get walking.

Ron didn't realise that he was walking a distance he couldn't feasibly cover until he was well into the desert. He'd had enough wits about him to stick to walking beneath the fly zone, but that had been about as far as his senses had left to give before buggering off all together.

He stopped and looked around. He thought about Disapparating back to Hermione. Then he thought about just sitting down in the dust and enjoying being in the one spot in the country where nobody could harm him or be harmed by association with him. He could sit there and not another soul would pass. He could sit and nobody flying above could see him. He could sit and sit and sit...

Just as sitting in the desert, doing nothing, became the most appealing option he remembered how Hermione had sobbed all over him for leaving her. He had to go back, even if it was just for her.

He got to his feet, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He pictured his destination and turned on the spot.

Returning to the flat, he let himself in, locked the door behind him and walked towards the bedroom.

"I take it things didn't go well," Hermione called out to him from the kitchen, "you've been gone four hours for your one hour appointment."

Ron toed off his shoes and unfastened his robe so it fell to the floor behind him. He climbed onto the bed, lay on his side, and drew his knees up to his chest. He simply lay there, eyes wide open and staring at the wall, while Hermione stopped talking and followed him through to the bedroom.

"Are you all right?" She sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on his arm.

He nodded.

"Ron, what happened? What did you do?"

"Nothing," he said, emptily, "I did nothing."

"Did they show you up at the Ministry?"

"Yeah but that's fine," he shrugged with one shoulder, "I expected them to."

"At least you got to contact home at last though...eh?" She rubbed her hand along his upper arm, lightly.

He didn't say anything.

"Ron, come on, say something." She tried to firm up her tone, make it sound as if she'd lost her patience, that she was cross. "Please." She only sounded more worried.

"I used the Floo to see Zaliha," he responded, sounding hollow.

"Okay," Hermione was hesitant to go on.

"Jal's missing," he said, Hermione's shoulders fell and she leaned forward to cuddle him, "and I got her gang-raped."

Hermione froze.

"Oh my God," she just barely managed to whisper.

"I wanna go home," Ron said, tightening the foetal position he'd curled himself into.

"Don't be... Just forget... You have a lay down for a while. We can have a talk later on, okay?"

"I have black heart," Ron said, voice cracking.

"What? No!" Hermione leaned over him and gripped his arm tightly.

"I'm like a Dementor to these people," he said as his breaths became ragged, "I bring despair everywhere I go."

"Stop it."

"You know what she said? What Zaliha said to me?" Ron's voice was faltering and he was on the brink of tears.

"I can't imagine what she's feeling but you can't take anything she might have said to hear-"

"She said she'd rather be with the Aurors than rely on me," he curled in on himself even more, "that they can protect her. I can't do anything. I just destroy people."

"She's not thinking straight," Hermione said as she ran her hands over Ron's side, as if he was cold and she was trying to warm him up, "these men... these things, they know how to get what they want through fear. They've terrified her into depending on their protection."

"They didn't pick her at random. They went after her because they saw her helping me."

"This is not your fault. You didn't do this to her. You didn't hurt anyone."

He didn't respond. He just lay there, on the bed, staring at the wall and breathing shakily.

"Ron," she reached forward and leaned right over to look at his face.

"Leave me alone," he said, closing his eyes, "just leave me alone for a little while."

"Okay," she withdrew immediately, pausing to brush a kiss against his cheek, and then rose from the bed.

She stood, staring at his back, for a short while. Then she turned and left the bedroom, leaving the door ajar, and sat down in the living room. She listened intently but heard nothing.

They needed help, but they were all alone.

After almost an hour, Hermione jumped up and hurried to the bin to pull out the last page of Harry's letter again. She reread the last words again and again.

Ever since that damn horcrux, Harry had been very protective about Ron's mood swings, to the point of defending them no matter how unreasonable he was being. The conversations about the destruction of the locket had always been vague. He needed to keep one secret from her and it didn't take more than one guess to know what it was.

Harry would always take Ron's side when she lost her temper with him and said harsh things. He'd tell her to back off and calm down. Other people had said much worse things to Ron in anger and Ron would simply fight back but there was something about the three of them that was different.

She'd probably never know and could live with that if it wasn't for having to be there while Ron went under again. She was the only person who he could talk to, and he could never talk to her about this.

She began to get angry.

These people didn't deserve him. He tried his best for them, he risked his job and stood up for total strangers and then got humiliated and undermined. He was segregated, cast out, and had no way of contacting his family or his friends. All this because he refused to turn a blind eye to injustice. He gave people hope, he gave them their respect back, he gave them a champion. That woman who had her business burned down, he saw to it she had justice.

He did make a difference for the better. He did nothing but try to improve life for the people of Nakhchivan, but the horrific things the Aurors were doing were being blamed on him.

She began to pace up and down. How dare they, she thought, how dare they break such a good man.

Then she attacked herself. She should have seen this coming. He'd been calling out for help for days and now he was hopeless. She should have done something when she realised he couldn't create a Patronus any more.

Things went from bad to worse when Rose decided to go into one of her hissy fits where she would cry and cry and cry for no reason, until Ron made a fuss of her. He had a magic touch sometimes and she was going to be such a manipulative daddy's girl, Hermione dreaded it to a certain extent, but when she was fed, rested and dry the only reason for her to cry was that she wanted her daddy.

Hermione wondered if the baby might be the thing to get him out of his down turn and carried her into the bedroom.

"Ron?"

She would have whispered only Rose's screams made that a little pointless.

"Ron, Rose is playing up, I think she wants you."

He shook his head.

"She's better off with you."

"No," Hermione said firmly, "and they might have convinced you you're a bad man but I know for a fact you're not a bad father. Now take your child and comfort her."

His shoulders clenched and turned his face into the pillow.

"I can't move, I can't think, I can't do anything. Hermione, I'm going mental." He whimpered to himself.

"No you're not," Hermione snapped, tiptoeing around him hadn't helped so she went for bossy instead, "now watch Rose while I have a shower."

She set her wailing daughter down between Ron and the wall, so he had to look at her, and left the room.

Ron stared at the creased, pink face of his little girl and thought that it was for the best that he let her down early. She could keep her expectations of him low and then he'd never disappoint. He'd overreached, he told himself, and that was always a mistake.

He shouldn't try to be more than he was capable of.

Rose cried and flapped her arms up and down in front of her, staring at Ron with tear flooded eyes. Ron started crying too. It wasn't the despairing sobs after he'd seen the families of all the murdered prisoners, but simply non stop tears flowing over the bridge of his nose and onto the pillow.

Every now and then he would sniff and wipe at his face. Rose stopped crying, her eyes dried, but continued to make crying sounds at him. She would whine and kick and pull grumpy faces. The more she voiced her displeasure, the bigger the failure Ron felt. He swallowed back a dry sob and his shoulders shook as he wished they'd never come to Nakhchivan.

He shouldn't have accepted the diplomatic job at all. He wasn't suited to a role where you sit around doing nothing and he wasn't man enough to actually get up and change things.

He wasn't a wannabe, he was a wannado.

At that moment he was a wannacrawlunderarock.

The sound of running water from the bathroom stopped. Hermione would be back soon. She'd take the baby away again. He closed his eyes, dragging an unsteady sigh from the depths of his body, and wiped his eyes to make sure they were dry.

"Dad-dee."

He opened his eyes and looked at Rose. She flapped both arms ahead of her again and kicked her legs for good measure. He swallowed against his dry throat and pressed his lips together.

"Da da da da da da da da!" Rose waggled her limbs in time with every sound of her 'baby mantra'.

That was what she usually did. He must've misheard. James didn't talk until he was two and Ron himself had only started speaking the language the twins spoke to each other in when they were toddlers. His first word had been twin speak for 'mummy's coming', 'boombaa'.

The bathroom door opened and Ron groaned and closed his eyes, tightly. Rose squeaked an attention seeking half scream, half cry, and then started to grizzle.

Ron felt new tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and pinched at them before blinking and looking at his daughter as she cried herself red in the face.

"Rosie, stop it," he whispered.

Another screaming cry from her and more moisture forced its way out through his tear ducts. The bedroom door opened and he hastily wiped his face and then closed his eyes. He felt the mattress springs rattle with the full body tantrum being thrown beside him, and then the weight was gone as Hermione lifted her away and made comforting sounds at her.

"Has she been crying the whole time?"

He shook his head.

"Ron," she said, firmly, expecting a spoken answer.

"She just started again." His voice betrayed him.

His nose sounded bunged up, his vocal chords tight, and there was a quiver underlying his tone.

He felt the weight of Hermione sitting on the bed, beside him.

"Have _you_ been crying the whole time?"

He didn't answer.

"Ron, you're going to have to talk to me."

"Look, you said not to leave, you said anything but walk out. You said you wanted me to stay no matter what and I did and you don't want... I knew you'd hate me if I stayed." His resolve broke and his voice faltered, humiliatingly, as his eyes flooded again.

"I don't hate you," she said as she set Rose back down beside him on the bed, "we love you and we don't like seeing your like this."

Rose stared at him, looking as if she was in an almighty strop, bottom lip jutting out as far as it could go and hands clenched in little fists. She blew an angry wet raspberry and dribbled all down her chin. Ron moved one hand away from his chest, where they were both tucked beneath his chin, and wiped her chin with his thumb.

Rose grabbed at his thumb and held on with her tightest grip.

"Da da da dee," she said, looking as if she was fiercely adamant about something, exactly like her mother.

"Did she just say...?" Hermione gasped.

Ron tried to wriggle his thumb free but Rose gripped tighter and waggled her arm about to shake his hand a little.

"Daddy!" She said, grumpily.

Hermione had her hand clamped over her mouth and Ron drew a shallow breath in and held it.

"Daddy feels like shit, Rosie," Ron said, shakily.

Hermione climbed onto the bed beside him and fitted her smaller form snugly against his back just as he broke down completely. Rose became increasingly upset at her father's obvious distress so Hermione draped her arm across his body to stroke her hair, soothingly.

The baby continued to look put out for a while but then settled down. Hermione's face was against the back of Ron's neck, nose deep in his hair, and she lightly touched the scar tissue at the top of his arm. It was a permanent reminder of what can happen if you don't prepare. She'd never once thought to learn any healing spells. It was ridiculous really, she was in the company of Harry Potter for almost all of the day and she never learned how to heal a wound?

And Ron, Ron was always getting hurt in ways that scarred him for life. She never understood why there was no blood during the splinching of whole limbs during their Apparition training and yet Ron almost bled to death with a chunk of flesh magically carved out of his arm.

She should have prepared better, she thought.

Even this should have been dealt with better. She'd known that Ron's emotional problems went deeper than simply low self esteem. It was the silence that acted as an alarm bell to her. When he was just being a moody pain in the arse he would answer back, antagonise, argue and more than likely offend. She would almost goad him into a fight when he simply withdrew into a silent surrender.

Harry knew it too. He'd told her about times when it happened, like when Arthur had been attacked and hospitalised, and how each member of the family reacted. The twins, serious and volatile, the polar opposite of their usual selves. Ginny, a timid and desperate little girl who just wanted to go to her daddy. He'd been genuinely upset at Ron's behaviour, however. Silence. No questions, no panic, no rants. Ron had sat and shut down completely.

He'd only come out of his stupor when news had come that things were going to be all right.

She hadn't seen Ron giggling, insanely, in the Department of Mysteries. Harry hadn't even described it to her, she heard the story from Ginny. She'd thought it was an odd curse to be throwing around in a battle to the death. Madam Pomfrey had said that thoughts leave scars and can do more damage, she'd also made a fuss about not knowing exactly what Ron had been struck with before the brain got hold of him.

Hermione had spent the summer reading.

The brain would have burnt his skin with the intensity of it's thoughts, but the fact that he'd spent just as long in hospital as she had gave away that he wasn't healing the way he was supposed to.

Ron had been hit with a curse that made him lose his wits, stop wanting to fight, stop being cautious. He'd laughed when he saw Harry was 'messed up'. She sometimes wondered if the curse had shaken his emotions like a snowglobe, then the brain had leeched them to the surface.

What if the brain's thoughts weren't burnt into his skin? What if his own thoughts were dragged out from their safe hiding places and left on the surface? He was exposed, his heart was on his sleeve and his soul was trying to burn through his arms and escape.

The locket had effected him more, he had been right about that, and she did appreciate that he admitted the feelings it brought out in him were genuinely his, only exacerbated. She had felt the effects every time the thing touched her skin. She should have realised that Ron's skin and not his pure blood, was the reason the negative energy could access so much of Ron so quickly.

His whole psyche was mapped out on his arms like an emotional exoskeleton.

She felt the splinching scar again.

What part of him had been ripped away by that happening? Why did he still crawl into his fragile shell and wish he was invisible? Why didn't his family ever comment on it? They all knew that's what he did. They all saw him do it. He was chatty, craved company at all times, and got bored very easily. He liked to entertain and be entertained, yet not one member of his family batted an eyelid when he stopped talking and became the invisible Weasley.

George had said something to Angelina once, after he and Ron had a blazing row over the most insignificant thing in the world at work.

"It's what he does, it's always better to piss him off. If he's moaning then he's all right. If he stops speaking to you, just leave him be...but not alone."

That had been the most succinct analysis of her husband Hermione had ever heard.

His breathing had stopped being interrupted by jarring shudders so she pushed herself up onto one elbow and looked over him at his sleeping face. She kissed his shoulder and he didn't stir. She looked from his face to Rose's and saw that her daughter was still wide eyed. Her tiny fist gripped Ron's thumb so hard her little knuckles were white.

"That's it, you hold daddy's hand," Hermione whispered as slipped off the bed as gently as she could.

"Da da da," Rose mumbled as she looked at the large thumb in her hand.

She pulled it towards her mouth and started sucking on it. Hermione prepared a bottle for her and sat at the table, staring into space, for a few minutes. She finally motivated herself to go back to the bedroom with the baby's bottle at the sound of her daughter chattering louder.

Rose was now laying face down on her father's chest. He still had his eyes closed but his big, safe hands were on her back to keep her from rolling off. Hermione felt some relief at this and brushed his fringe back from his face with one finger. He deliberately kept his eyes closed.

"I've got a bottle for her, can yo-"

He opened his eyes and then, carefully, pushed himself up the bed a little way to rest his shoulders against the headboard. He shifted Rose so she was on her back, head against his shoulder, and took the bottle from Hermione. Rose saw it and began flapping her arms to reach for it. He placed the rubber teat into her mouth and she clamped both palms to either side and she drank with the same focus Ron usually put toward eating.

Hermione watched for a moment and then spoke softly.

"Do you want anything to eat?"

He shook his head.

"Drink?"

Again, he shook his head. He watched Rose drink the bottle dry and then rested her against his shoulder to pat her on the back. She burped and then grabbed a chunk of his hair and pulled on it. He tilted his head and then twisted himself free of her, before laying her back down on the pillow and shuffling back down the bed to join her.

She looked at him and blinked. He made himself comfortable, then slipped his finger into her hand. She gripped it and made a happy sound as she squeezed. He smiled, just a little at the corner of his mouth, then curled himself back up into the foetal position and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the wall. She had no idea what to do, what he needed from her, or who to ask for help.

She thought about a joke, a joke of very poor taste, a friend of her father had told during an dinner party at their house when she was at home from Hogwarts one Christmas.

_'America, you gave us Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra and Bruce Springsteen and we took them to our hearts. We gave you John Lennon and you shot him.'_

She hadn't thought it was very funny at the time but it came back to her now, the bitterness behind such a 'joke'.

They were given Ron Weasley, gifted him to their country, a diplomatic Auror who actually cared...and they destroyed him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

Rose was waving a rattling wand, occasionally cracking herself on the head with it, and then pausing for a mild snivel before waving it again. Hermione left her to it as she sat in the middle of the living room floor, combing through book after book, and pointing her wand at the fireplace.

She was determined to fix the Floo connection and was certain that the answer lay within the pages of one of her personal library of books. She sat amid a sea of open texts and swept her wand in a wide arc towards the fire and focused herself on delivering the non verbal curse-breaking incantation at the empty fireplace.

Beside her, Rose shook her rattling wand violently, and shouted something in baby language.

A few clumps of soot fell down into the grate but nothing else happened as a result of her spell. Hermione looked at the book as if she was being betrayed by her lifelong soul mate, then slammed it closed in anger. Rose jumped and looked around, startled, before banging her rattling wand onto a copy of 'The Magical Mechanics of Muggle Hybrids and How to Bring Your Mansion into the Eighteenth Century'.

Ron had been in bed for a day and a half and was showing no signs of budging in the near future. He hadn't eaten, which was a real issue simply because Ron had an abnormal metabolism and wasn't really capable of functioning on an empty stomach. Of course not being able to function while you lay on your side wishing you were dead isn't really one of the bigger problems he had to face. She had got him to have a drink and that was enough for her to stop fretting over him for a few hours, but there was no way she was going to sleep that night unless Ron had eaten something.

She cast her eyes over all the books and worried her lip between her teeth as she decided upon the next course of action.

If she could get him to talk to Harry they might be okay, but there was no way she was going to parade him through the Ministry in a catatonic state just to use the Polkovnik's fireplace. Ron wouldn't be able to bare his soul to his best friend with the very people who have tormented him listening in. She gripped her wand tightly and stifled a growl. They would probably gloat at the state he was in. They'd clink glasses and laugh at how they defeated him and crushed the troublemaker.

Also, if anyone in that travesty of a Ministry had any decency and was inspired to try to emulate Ron's ideals they wouldn't bother once they saw that he'd given up.

She swallowed, globus hystericus, unable to stand the thought of her Ron giving up.

She got up and stepped carefully through the scattered books all over the place, towards Rose. She stooped to pick her up and then carried her through to the bedroom with her. She set the baby down in her cot and then perched on the bed, leaning over Ron to see if he was awake.

He was certainly ripe.

"Ron, it's time to get up now."

He opened his eyes and swallowed.

"Come on, you need to wash," she shook him gently by the shoulder.

He didn't move.

"Ron, you smell, come on. Get up."

He sighed and sank down deeper between the sheets. Hermione got up from the bed and marched out, leaving him to close his eyes again, but she came right back with a bowl full of warm water and a sponge. She sat it down, rolled Ron, forcibly, onto his back by the shoulder and then wrung out the sponge.

"What are you doing?" It was the first time he'd spoken all day and his voice sounded strange because of it.

"If you won't get up to wash I'm giving you a bed bath," she said, firmly.

He batted the sponge away, in annoyance, but she threw it back into the bowl and then forced him up into a sitting position before picking it up again to start cleaning his back.

"I'm not an invalid!" He snapped.

"Well get out of bed and get into the bathroom!" Hermione said back with frustration.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" He whined as he tried to lie back down.

She grabbed his arm by the wrist and lifted it to wash under his armpit.

"Because I love you and you're stuck with me loving your for ever." She said as she wet the sponge and wrung it out again. "And if I'm going to be with you forever you'd better bloody smell nice."

He pulled his arm free and looked at her, a disconcerted expression on his face, before his shoulders slumped.

"Fine, I'll have a shower."

"You'll have a bath," Hermione said as she flicked her wand at the bathroom and set the water running, "with me and Rose."

He bowed his head and nodded before turning to slide his legs out of bed and over the side. Hermione exhaled her great relief at being able to get through to him. She wanted to push for so much more, feeding him most of all, but knew that she needed to take one little step forward as if it was a one-off and not overwhelm him into hibernation again.

She decided to stick with the steamrolling attitude and left for the bathroom, calling behind her.

"Take Rose's nappy off and bring her with you."

Tasks. Tasks were good. She should be giving him minor little tasks to do and he'd come back to himself. When Ron bounced back from one of his emotional upheavals he was always so much more industrious. It was probably overcompensating due to his embarrassment at his behaviour, or maybe even the same issue that had got to him in the first place. His head might have been telling him he had to win people over again because he had to make himself worth knowing.

When he came back after walking out of them during the year from hell he'd taken charge and motivated them through their disenchantment. He was clearly trying to make up for his behaviour before leaving but, at the same time, that was still the real Ron. He could be a leader, a motivator, a planner, and she'd been won back around by his attitude.

She and Harry had ceased to function without him. In many ways they had been in the same stupor that Ron now found himself in.

She added bubbles to the bathwater just as Ron padded into the bathroom with a naked Rose in his arms. She looked happy to be with her daddy again, especially away from the bed, and got excited to see the bubbles. Hermione pulled down Ron's pyjama bottoms and tugged them against his ankles to get him to step out of them, which he did.

She stopped the water running and then took Rose from him so he could climb into the bath. When he'd settled into position she handed Rose back, the baby started splashing and squealing as soon as she felt the bubbles against her skin. Hermione undressed and climbed in behind Ron. She immediately started washing his back and then moved around his shoulders and down both arms, working up a lather, and then rinsed his skin with soothing strokes of her hands.

Hermione reached for the baby shampoo and held it before Ron, waiting for him to cup his hands, and squirted a tiny amount for him to use to wash Rose' fine hair. She squeezed a dollop of the shampoo into her own palm and then began to work it into Ron's hair. He gently massaged Rose's scalp with his fingertips, careful to keep the suds from her eyes, and she laughed as she splashed him by kicking her legs and waving her arms.

"Close your eyes," she whispered to him.

She began to rinse his hair and Rose tried to direct her splashes up to help. She was babbling her nonsense baby words again and only quietened down when she caught a mound of bubbles on the back of her hand. She tried to put the foamy mound into her mouth and looked puzzled as the tiny bubbles vanished as soon as she touched them with her tongue. Soon she had bubbles on the end of her nose and a baffled look on her face, smacking her lips as she tried to get rid of the taste of soap.

Hermione felt Ron's body move in a single, silent laugh and curled her arms around him for a hug. She pressed herself against his back and rested her cheek between his shoulder blades.

They sat that way for a short while, before Ron finally spoke, his voice rumbling from inside against her cheek.

"Hermione," he said.

"Mmmmm?"

"Rose just peed in the bathwater."

"Oh great," Hermione groaned as she climbed out of the bath and grabbed a towel.

Ron lifted her out of the water and held her up for Hermione to wrap the towel around. Ron pulled the plug with his toes and heaved himself out of the bath. He tied a towel around his waist and then rubbed at his wet hair with another. Hermione carried Rose to the bedroom to put a nappy on her and then wrestle her into a baby-grow. Just as she laid her down in her cot Ron's large feet slapped along the floor behind her and she spun and blocked the door to the bedroom.

Her hands were pressed against each side of the doorframe and she stood, wet and naked before him, a stubborn look on her face.

"No," she said, firmly, "you're not going back to bed. For one thing I want to strip off those sheets and put some fresh ones down. They're stale and horrible."

"Fine, I'll make the bed before I ge-"

"No," she said again. "You're not getting back into bed until you've eaten something. Just one little bit of food. You eat and then I'll leave you be for the rest of the day. If you don't eat I'll nag and nag and na-"

He pulled the towel from around his waist and wrapped it around her. She lowered her arms and clasped it to her.

"I'll have a sandwich," he said before pointing into the bedroom, "pass me something to wear."

She turned and walked deeper into the room to pick up a pair of jeans and tossed them into his chest.

"No pants?"

She opened a drawer and found him a clean pair of underwear. She stepped towards him and handed him the underpants, watched him dress, and then reached up to smooth back his damp hair. He folded his arms across his bare chest and avoided her eyes. Hermione looked down his body and then slid her thumbs inside the waistband of his jeans.

"These are the tight ones," she said, shaking the loose fabric around his waist, causing the jeans to slip down and wedge on his sharp hipbones. "Let me fry something for you. I'll make chips or do a full English, something fatty, you like greasy food don't you?"

"Sandwich is fine."

"Please let me cook something for you, egg and chips, simple egg and chips."

There was something truly wrong with the world. She was begging her husband to eat fried egg and chips.

"Do we have any potatoes?"

Hermione almost stamped her foot as she realised they didn't.

"Fry up then, go on, sit down." She waved through to the next room and Ron heaved a sigh of resignation and trudged through to sit at the table.

Hermione pulled a dressing gown around herself and bundled her hair up into a towel turban before opening the fridge and grabbing everything she could that might be incorporated into an English breakfast.

Ron slouched over the table, forearms crossed between the table top and his head as he rested upon them as if they were a pillow, and he watched her heating some oil in the pan. She put a tomato cut into two under the grill, added some halved mushrooms, and slices of bread for toast. She laid some bacon rashers into one side the sizzling pan and then cracked two eggs into the other. Pausing to turn the toast, she put a small saucepan on the heat and warmed up a little tin of baked beans.

Ron watched as she took a large plate out of the cupboard and removed the toast from under the grill to slice it and arrange it on the plate. Soon everything else joined it, bacon soft and pink not stiff and crispy, just the way Ron liked it. She carried the plate over to him and waited for him to sit up so she could set it down where he'd been resting his head.

She put down a knife and a fork on either side of the plate and sat beside him, waiting for him to start eating.

"You're fucking joking right?" Ron said, wearily.

"What?" Hermione scanned the eggs, the yolks were runny and the whites were firm, she'd done everything just so.

"I'm not eating if you're not."

Hermione realised that she'd completely forgotten to make anything for herself. She rose from the table but Ron grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down.

"Look, there's four pieces of toast, two eggs, two bits of bacon, two tomatoes... share this with me."

"No, you usually eat that much and seconds. You need to eat all of it. I'll have some cereal."

"You'll share or I'm having none of it." His voice was tired but adamant.

She reached over for a fork and picked up a mushroom with it. Ron cut into one of the rashers of bacon, lifted it to his mouth, and then put his cutlery back down on the side of the plate again. He got up from the table.

"I'm eating, look!" Hermione attempted to shovel a whole egg into her mouth.

Ron couldn't help himself but laugh at this, yolk dribbling down her chin and flaps of white drooping out from either side of her mouth, before opening a kitchen cupboard. He lifted out a bottle of brown sauce and carried it back over to the table. Hermione struggled to chew and swallow. By the time she'd defeated the egg Ron had slapped the bottom of the glass bottle until his slice of bacon and his egg were swamped in brown sauce.

"I forgot, sorry," Hermione said, looking a little sick at having to consume a whole friend egg in such a short time. She didn't know how Ron did it.

Ron picked up two of the slices of toast and scooped up his sauce covered bacon to put between them. He ate it like a sandwich and Hermione cut into her tomato, neatly. The toast and bacon sandwich was gone in three mouthfuls and he picked up a third piece of toast to jab into the yolk of his egg.

Hermione smiled to herself, not mentioning that he was eating part of her share. He went from egg dipped toast to bean covered toast and back again until it was gone. He finished off his egg with the tomato and then watched Hermione finish off the beans with the last remaining slice of toast.

They cleared their shared plate and Hermione went to the fridge for some fruit juice. She poured herself some grapefruit juice to cut through the greasy food and saw Ron glancing into the fridge as he carried the plate to the sink. She pulled out a can of lemonade and handed it to him.

Ordinarily she'd keep Ron from fizzy drinks as if they were poison but an overload of sugar and additives might do him some good, she thought. He drank the clear fizzy liquid straight from the can, another thing she disapproved of, and threw the empty can into the bin before heading back towards the bedroom.

She watched him go, sadly, but felt better that he'd had something to eat and drink. She sat back down in the middle of her scattered books, sipping at her juice, and picked up where she'd left off. Just as she was considering smashing a hole into a different wall and trying to create a new connection from scratch, Ron wandered back into the room.

"Oh," she said, "hi."

"I made the bed," he said, thumbing towards the bedroom.

"Oh right! Yes, thank you." Hermione was too startled at him not having fallen right back into his stupor that she didn't quite know how to talk to him.

He sat down on the sofa and watched her. She felt very self conscious as she went back to her research, but after a couple of minutes she was fascinated enough not to notice Ron shifting onto his side to lie down on the sofa. When she gave up on one particular book she closed it and stacked it on the 'no use' pile and saw that he'd moved but was still watching her.

She picked up her grapefruit juice and swirled it around in the glass, as the pith had all settled on the bottom, and drank the rest down before taking her glass to the sink and washing it up. When she returned to her spot on the floor she glanced over at Ron and her heart fell a little to see that he'd closed his eyes.

She may have got him out of bed but she hadn't got him out of the deep mire he was in.

The whole day was spent failing to fix the Floo connection or create a new one by any means. It had got dark now and Hermione was wondering if it was worth suggesting to Ron that they had dinner together when Rose woke up and started crying in the bedroom.

Hermione saw to it she had everything she needed and then dressed her in the 'Daddy's little Cannon' outfit George had bought for her, or more so Ron, when she had been born. George had overestimated just how big a newborn was so it was only now that she could fit into the bright orange outfit. She carried her through to see Ron, Rose drinking greedily from her bottle, and froze just outside the doorway as she saw a silver stag standing before Ron and talking with Harry's voice.

"...hope this gets to you mate. We've got no idea what's happening over there, just reports that are making me very worried. If this is an ego thing and you don't want to embarrass yourself just to get the use of an international Floo then I'm sorry but sod your ego and get your head in those flames now!"

She glanced at Ron. He was sitting up on the sofa and staring at the stag, gulping, eerily pale in the light from the Patronus.

"The thing is, I don't think this is an ego thing. Bulgaria have contacted us and said they haven't seen you in days. Their Auror found out there's a warrant out for Jalil Araz and asked a couple of questions about how you're able to get by without an interpreter and they got laughed at and told that you don't need to speak to anyone anymore. Egypt have contacted Greece because their man saw you going in last week and you never came out. Nobody's been in or out of your place, nobody's seen Hermione, a Ministry nobody went to the door for a while but that was it. You have to contact home, Ron. The Greek Ministry think a lot of you and Hermione and they hate the Nakhchivan lot, they're ready to declare war because they think..."

The stag actually shook his head as if it was bothered by a bee buzzing about its antlers.

"You're a diplomatic Auror, there are rules about how you can treat diplomatic Aurors, you have immunity from their so called justice systems. Greece think you've been arrested. Egypt think you've been imprisoned. Bulgaria are trying to stop the public saying you've been killed. Seriously, the people of Nakhchivan are convinced the Minister had you killed! I've looked at that clock of your mother's, I'm looking at it now, I know none of those things are true but I haven't got a clue what's going on. Greece will invade unless you contact us. Send a Patronus for God's sake!"

The stag vanished. Ron shuddered and dropped his head into his hands.

"I'll do it," Hermione said, causing him to flinch to attention in his seat.

She marched towards him and forced Rose into his hands, then drew her wand.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

A limp slither of silver fell from the tip of her wand and vanished before it hit the floor. She huffed, chiding herself for always having difficulty with the spell, and tried again.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

Nothing more than a puff of silver smoke left the tip of her wand this time. She looked at Ron, fear in her eyes, and then desperately attempted the charm again.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

Another feeble puff of silver smoke. She lowered her wand and dropped into the seat beside Ron. He had tears welling in his eyes as he rocked the baby, who was obliviously guzzling away at her milk, and he shivered as he looked at Hermione.

"I...I'm a... I've," he babbled as if eight different things were fighting to be the first he got to say.

Hermione hated the words that won that fight.

"I'm like an infection."

"Ron, no."

"You can't do it now, _you_ can't do it either, I've sapped the positive energy out of you." Ron suddenly thrust Rose into Hermione's chest. "God, take her quick!"

"You're not hurting Rose by being near her," Hermione said as the bottle fell to the floor and Rose did a fake cry to make one of them give it back.

"She's been crying more with me than she ever has," Ron said as he jumped to his feet and pointed down at his daughter. "She used to stop when she was with me, now she cries _because_ of me!"

"It's not that! She cries when she picks up on you being upset, she doesn't want you to be unhappy, that's why she's been crying at you." Hermione picked up the bottle and shook it at him. "She just dropped her bottle and wants it back, look," Hermione paused to tilt the baby's face towards him, "not even real tears. She's just complaining we dropped her bottle."

Ron looked away from them and rubbed his eyes.

"I have to go to the Ministry. I have to use their bloody fireplace."

"No!" Hermione shouted. "It's not your designated time, they won't let you in and it's dangerous out there. Jal said you weren't ever to go out there alone."

"Yeah well Jal's probably dead!" Ron snapped.

"Don't say that."

"Bulgaria, I'll...I'll...No, they said I couldn't use theirs." Ron's vague plan was derailed before he'd even formed it.

"The other Diplomatic Aurors think there's something unscrupulous going on. They'll think you're Polyjuiced or under Imperious, trying to stop the rumours."

"How can I still fuck things up when I haven't even been _doing_ anything?" Ron said, tearing at his hair. "There's gonna be a war because of me, and who's gonna get killed in a war? Is it going to be the people in the Ministry? No it'll be all the people I was trying to help who have nothing."

"Ron, we'll find a way to send word back home. We'll get a message to the Bulgarian Auror's residence and he'll send a Patronus to Viktor and Viktor ca-"

"Get a message to him how?" Ron shook his head, shoulders falling. "You're not going out there on your own. I c-"

"You're not leaving this flat," Hermione said, firmly.

"So how do we communicate with anyone?" Ron said, staring into space. He saw Hermione getting to her feet, baby in her arms, and backed out of the door.

"Stay away from me," he said, fearfully. "Don't you let her near me." He pointed at Rose and then ran into the bedroom and locked the door behind him.

"Ron!" Hermione screamed and ran to the door to try the handle. She pointed her wand at the lock. "_Alo-_"

"Stay the fuck away from me!" Ron bellowed.

Hermione jumped back from the door, Rose threw up down her back and started crying, and inside the room, Ron was magically hurling every last piece of furniture at the door to create a barricade.

---

Hermione sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, beside the bedroom door. She rocked Rose in her bouncy chair, which was on the floor beside her, as the little girl drifted off to sleep.

There hadn't been a sound from the bedroom since the banging of furniture against the door had stopped. She couldn't bring herself to sleep on the sofa. She couldn't bear to be that far away from him when he was in such a state. A couple of times she'd tapped on the door and called his name, asking if he was all right and for him to say something just to let her know not to blast the door down. The first time he'd muttered for her to go away. The second there'd been no response at all.

Once in a while she'd try to produce a Patronus again but every good thought was associated with Ron and thinking about Ron hurt inside.

It was in the early hours of the morning when somebody knocked on the front door. She jumped and her heart thumped so hard against her chest she felt a little nauseated. Clutching her wand tightly, she got to her feet and crept towards the door. She cast some protective charms over the doorway and then opened the door.

A hooded man with a hollow looking face, dark hair and eyes, looked at her and then past her into the flat.

"British Auror?"

"Who are you?" Hermione said, pointing her wand directly into his face.

"Fatalibeyli," the man lifted both hands to show he wasn't holding a wand, "I brother of Hasmik."

Hermione lowered her wand to his chest and stared at him, trying to work out what kind of trick this could possibly be.

"How did you get into the building? Only permitted wand holders are allowe-"

"I have no wand, see!" the man held out both arms and his robe hung open to display shabby clothes.

He turned on the spot and she realised that he'd been able to come to their door because he wasn't deemed a real person. He had no wand, therefore he couldn't be a witch or wizard, but he wasn't a Muggle so the Muggle repelling charms had no effect on him.

Even a squib would have had more trouble than he had.

"Hasmik's brother is dead," Hermione said.

"My brother, yes...he tortured. Mother take picture and give to Hasmik. She give to British Auror. Mother put in prison six year for picture."

Hermione lifted the charms on the door and pulled him inside.

"What are you doing here?"

"Hasmik and Simeon safe, hiding, ask me to tell friend Jalil. Say he be here with British Auror."

"No, Jal's gone. He's hiding too."

The man's head hung.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said as she touched the man's arm.

He looked back up at her again, pushing back his hood so she could see him clearly.

"I see British Auror?"

"No," Hermione shook her head and tried not to look to the closed bedroom door, "he's...not well."

The man looked disappointed.

"I want to thank."

"What?"

"He help us. We have somebody to go to for help. Never have anybody before."

"I'll tell him you said so, and I'll tell him Hasmik and Simeon are safe." Hermione smiled at him. "He needs to hear that."

"But I come for my reason as well as message for Jalil."

"What's your reason?" Hermione became wary again, moving her hand towards her wand.

"My mother, because British Auror say is wrong, he tell people is wrong to happen to her. Ministry release her. She home."

"Really?"

He nodded.

"American Auror say he want to buy land from owner. Ministry say it their land because owner in prison. American Auror ask what crime and they release my mother."

Hermione smiled. Ron had shown them how to do it. He'd shown them how to play them at their own game, how to win little victories, and the American Auror had tricked them into letting Hasmik's mother go because they couldn't admit to imprisoning a woman for photographing her dead son. Maybe playing it dumb and useless had been a plan from the American Auror all along.

"I thank American Auror and he say no, thank British Auror. I come here anyway for Jalil," he shrugged, "my mother is free. I thank British Auror."

"I'll tell him that too," Hermione said, hugging herself.

"British help my family. I want to help British. American Auror with Turkish Auror. He say they can not help British. Tell me bury wand in dirt outside, come to door, say I help you."

"What?"

"Fatalibeyli family have debt to British Auror family," the man said, proudly. "Tell me what help I give."

Hermione stared at him, jaw starting to tremble so she clamped her teeth together hard, and looked back towards the bedroom door.

"I do anything," he vowed.

She turned back to him, eyes flooding with tears, and grabbed his sleeve.

"We need to get out of here. Can you get us out of here, somewhere we can Disapparate?"

"You need go across border?"

"Yes!" Hermione nodded emphatically.

"I take," he said, nodding back.

Hermione ran to the bedroom door and began hammering on it. Rose inevitably woke and started crying at her interrupted sleep. Hasmik's brother lifted her up and carried her away from the noise.

"Come baby British, we look at stars," he said as he carried her through to the next room to stand at the window with her.

"Ron! Ron, open the door!" Hermione yelled, pounding on the door with both fists. "We're going home right now, Hasmik sent her brother to get us out, unblock this door or I'm obliterating it. I mean it!"

There was nothing. She hoped that he'd put up a _Muffliato_ and simply couldn't hear her. She also hoped he wasn't standing on the other side of the door as she blasted it into smithereens.

The door exploded into splinters, which themselves disintegrated into nothing as they fell to the floor, and she forced back the wall of furniture piled up in her way. Ron was curled up in bed, as he had been before, and Hermione crawled across the bed to shake him awake. He already was. He stared at her.

"Come on, get up and get dressed, we're going home now."

He didn't move. She shook him into the mattress.

"Come on!"

He did nothing. She shoved him onto his back and looked down at him, wild with frustration.

"Hasmik's brother, her other brother, he came to tell us Hasmik and Simeon are safe. He came to say that their mother has been set free because of you. The American Auror has started tricking the Ministry into doing the right thing because of you." Hermione shoved him in the chest as she tried to get through to him. "He came to thank you. He's here to thank you and he wants to help us get out, across the border, so we can Disapparrate."

Ron rolled back onto his side and curled back into the foetal position.

"No, you can do this at home, you can do this when we're all safe. _Get up!_"

He wasn't budging. She didn't know how they were going to make a move before sunrise if he was catatonic. She held her wand on him and thought about casting an Imperius curse but she couldn't go through with it.

"He is too ill to travel?"

She looked up and saw the man cradling her child in his arms.

"Yes," Hermione nodded, tears swelling from ducts as she admitted the truth.

"Turkish Auror give me this for disguise." He held up a small bottle of what looked like mud. "I no use, I no need, but he say hairs c-"

"Pollyjuice!" Hermione gasped, then shook her head to clear her thoughts. "But it's just as hard moving a man who looks different but can't walk for himself."

"Understand," the man nodded, then looked at Rose, "but easier to carry twins, yes?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 9**

Hermione had never cut Rose's hair before but she wasn't willing to pull any out, so she decided to lightly clip a fringe. Collecting the fine hairs in the palm of her hand, she dropped them into a glass and then poured the potion on top of them. She swirled the glass to mix the two together until they turned into a clear liquid in a deep shade of peacock blue.

She carried it through to Ron, in the bedroom, and tried to force him to sit up.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" He whined.

"I won't leave you alone to think yourself insane," she said, still insistently jostling him with her free arm, "I'll leave you be if you're sleeping peacefully. I want you to rest, Ron."

She offered him the glass. He lifted his head a little way off the pillow and frowned at it.

"I made a sleeping draught," she lied, "it won't make you feel awful when you wake up, like the dreamless sleep potion."

"So I'll dream?" He asked, pushing himself up on one elbow.

"Are your dreams a problem?"

He took the glass and drank it down. He looked down into it and smacked his lips.

"Tastes like nectarines," he said before reeling a little, almost as if he was swaying only laying down, and then he looked at her as he recognised the feeling that was coming over him.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, catching the glass as it slipped from his shrinking hand.

His hair shortened, being sucked back into his scalp, and his stubble vanished until his skin was smoother than she'd ever seen it. She stroked his cheek as it shrank down, smaller and smaller, and marvelled at the change in his long, thin nose. His eyes struck her the most, everything seemed smaller but they looked larger than ever as they stared up at her. His copper eyelashes turned darker, the bright blue iris' became brown, and his Adam's apple sank into his throat and was gone.

She didn't want to imagine how it felt for his sexual organs to change and shrink at the same time. When she'd transformed into Harry she instantly held her legs apart as it felt as if her vagina was turning inside out and hanging, droopily, out of her body. For her, changing back had been a welcome return to normality. Riding a Thestral with external sexual organs was amazingly difficult and she didn't know how Ron coped on a broomstick. She could imagine that, for Ron, his penis and balls rising up into his body while shrinking and changing was a traumatic sensation.

As if on queue, Ron the baby started crying.

She picked him up, realised that he was a she, and then resolved to go on referring to him as a he for the sake of her own sanity.

She wondered if he still had the mind, the awareness, of an adult or not. She didn't want to put a nappy on him if he was essentially still Ron.

"Ron?" She said, timidly. "Ron, if you can understand me, wave your right hand."

The baby Ron still cried.

Hermione tapped the back of his right hand.

"Waggle this hand for me."

The baby went red in the face and cried louder.

"Okay," she said to herself with a nod, "I'll put a nappy on you."

As she took care of the naked baby girl in her arms she kept chanting to herself, 'he's just like Rose, this isn't creepy because he's Rose. You can take care of your daughter'

After he was changed, she dressed him in a plain white baby grow. There was no way she was going to put him in pink, or worse one of Rose's dresses, even if he wasn't aware of things like the colour pink's role as a gender and sexuality marker in visual communication.

She paused in her quest to pull one of the chubby arms through a sleeve to stare down at him and shake her head.

"If you knew what I'd just been thinking about you'd laugh at me," she said.

Baby Ron simply dribbled.

"I hope Rose doesn't have an identity crisis when she sees you," Hermione said as she went back to her task.

The baby had stopped crying and was staring up at her. She smiled, sadly.

"I think I need to be committed to an institution," she said, shaking her head at her own confession, "you're still the love of my life, even like this.

"Bubbawaar," baby Ron said.

She kissed his forehead and held him to her chest.

"Is done? British Auror is baby?"

She turned towards Hasmik's brother and smiled.

"Thank you for this. I know what a risk you're taking by helping us."

"He take risk to help my mother. You must leave for baby," he nodded to Rose in his arms, "I am man."

"Yes," Hermione nodded, "you can protect your family now."

"I protect British Auror family. He risk for us, I risk for you."

She nodded and the two of them began to gather the things they needed for the journey.

"Non essentials in the trunk, we'll leave that," Hermione said, "everything important I want you to put in this bag."

She set the beaded bag, that could hold a limitless supply of things with no added weight on the carrier, onto the table. They filled it as fast as they could and then Hermione changed her hair so it was black. Luckily she had a skin tone that was dark enough to pull it off.

"We carry babies to fly zone," Hasmik's brother said as he moved toward the door, "and walk to border. Walk and jump, walk and jump..."

"Can you fly?" Hermione asked, before looking to Ron's broom.

"I have not flown for years, flying is for rich, and I won't fly with baby," he nodded down to Rose as he spoke.

Hermione weighed up Ron's possible disappointment at leaving his broom behind and her own hatred of flying on anything but a Muggle passenger jet.

"We'll walk...and jump," Hermione said, assuming jump meant Apparate.

"We Nakhchivan family of four, nobody stop us," Hasmik's brother said with a smile.

"What's your name?" Hermione asked.

"Heydar," he said with a smile, grateful that his name was worth knowing to her.

"Let's go."

---

After having travelled all the way to the north east border with Turkey, Hermione and Heydar left Nakhchivan. They could have crossed into Iran or Armenia but Hermione had remembered Ron telling her that Turkey were friendly so she'd insisted on taking the longest journey across the country, via picking out a spot in the distance and then Apparating to it.

Rose was entranced by her doppelganger, she kept clumsily touching the other baby's face, and then looking around for her daddy when the other baby began to cry.

"Stop poking baby daddy in the eye, Rose," Hermione said, making a mental note to look into family therapy when she got back home.

She gave her daughter her bottle and then looked down at the wide eyed 'twin' before her.

"Would you like some milk, Ron?" She felt stupid, speaking to the baby as if it was an adult, but she couldn't address the infant as she did Rose.

She felt around in her bag of baby things and pulled out a Farley's Rusk.

"It's sweet, you always nick a bite of Rose's, when you're..." She tailed off and looked down at her lap. "Here."

She held the rusk against his chubby palm and waited for him to grip it. She watched him holding it and staring at it for some time before shoving it into his mouth and sucking on it. Hermione smiled at him and stroked his hair, or Rose's hair, she shook her head at the confusion she was causing herself.

"You like me to come to nearest town with you?" Heydar was kind to have offered but Hermione knew that he should get back to his family.

If they hadn't known it was him who had helped them escape, then him wandering around in the same country she'd reappeared would be a very clumsy thing to do.

"I'll be fine from here," Hermione smiled up at him.

"You need give baby Auror more potion. He change back soon."

She nodded.

"I'll put some in a bottle and feed it to him before we set off. Can't have him changing back while I'm carrying him can I?" She tried to laugh at this but her eyes flooded with tears, trying to push themselves out and down her face.

She used all her will power to hold them back, hoping they would dry on her eyelashes rather than spill over.

"He get better when you home. Is Nakhchivan," he gestured back to his country and shook his head, "country is sick."

Hermione got to her feet and hugged him, tightly.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Thank British Auror, you tell what I say. He save my family."

"I'll tell him again and again and again," she vowed before stepping out of the hug and wiping at her eyes, giving up on her plan to let the unshed tears dry, and then watching as he crouched before Ron's transformed body.

He took one of the tiny, rusk covered, hands and gave it a little shake.

"Goodbye, British Auror."

"Ron," Hermione said, "his name's Ron."

"I know," he nodded, "is disrespectful for stranger to call first name."

"You're not a stranger," Hermione put her hand on his back.

Heydar wiped the rusk goop off his finger and onto his shabby cloak as he stood up.

"I go now."

Hermione hugged him again and then watched as he made his way back over the border and into his own country. A gust of wind blew sand into Rose's eyes and she screamed and cried. Hermione spun around to see to her and saw the rusk covered baby beside her daughter reaching out and dumping the soggy rusk onto her chest. Rose was spitting and burbling, sand having got into her mouth as well, and she grabbed the rusk with both hands and shoved it into her mouth. Her eyes were still red and watering, Hermione used her wand to remove the irritating grains of sand, and the bottle was a few inches away from her, where she'd dropped it as the sand had stung at her.

Hermione picked the bottle up, cleaned the sand off the nipple, and then cast a sterilising spell on it. She handed it to the baby Ron. He stared at her with the strangely large, brown, eyes and started drinking the rest of the milk.

Rose was comfortable and happy again. Ron was being fed and as content as he could ever be as a female infant. She smiled at his familiar face, familiar but wrong, and felt a kind of comfort that something of Ron's instincts were still in there. He'd given Rose his rusk to stop her crying about her eyes hurting. Hermione knew that he could have just jumped at the sound, swung out his arm and accidentally dropped his rusk into her hands, but she also knew that anything was possible.

"We got out, we're going home," she said as she leaned over him and watched him drinking the bottle dry.

She busied herself making another bottle with Pollyjuice inside. She flinched as a lock of black hair swung before her, then huffed as she remembered she was still disguised.

"Have you both been wondering where your mummy is?" She said as she changed back. Then her face fell and she realised she'd just referred to herself as Ron's mummy. "Oh God," she groaned, "so much therapy."

---

Harry opened the door so hard that the handle embedded itself into the wall and jammed wide open.

He didn't even notice.

He was massaging the stitch in his side and panting as he took in the sight of Hermione with two babies strapped to her body in home made slings.

"What the hell happened...and why are there two?" He pointed from one Rose to the other.

Hermione started crying. Harry reached her in two strides and pulled her into his shoulder to cry, rubbing her back and trying not to smother the babies with his chest.

"Where's Ron? If they've...I'll kill them."

"Pollyjuiced into Rose so I could carry him out of the country because it was the only way to move him he just gave up and we couldn't cast Patronuses or Patroni and I should know which is which but I can't think any more and I don't even remember which one of these babies is my baby and he'll be turning back into Ron soon and then I don't know what to do because he's...just...ruined!"

Hermione sobbed so hard Harry prepared himself to be thrown up on. It sounded almost painful, the sounds from her chest, and he did the only thing he could. He took both babies and laid them down on the nearby sofa. He tried to spot Ron behind the eyes of either of them but they were both just like the Rose he had pictures of at home.

He sighed and shook his head as he turned away, walked Hermione over to a chair, and sat her down in it.

"He needs a," she hiccuped, "needs... He needs," she covered her face with her hands, "help."

"I know," Harry said, softly, "and we'll look after him."

"You can," she hiccupped again, "you can make him feel better can't you? You know what's wrong with him don't you?"

"I don-" Harry looked troubled at both what she was saying and what she was expecting of him.

"You're the only one he doesn't have any secrets from!" She gripped the front of Harry's Auror robes. "You can bring him back, can't you?"

"I'll talk to him," Harry said as Kingsley walked into the room, glancing at the jammed open door, and then squatted before Hermione.

"War in the middle east averted," he said as he put his hand on her knee and smiled, "at least as far as Wizarding governments are concerned."

Hermione wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand and Kingsley handed her his handkerchief. She started crying again as soon as she took it. Kingsley looked over to the two babies wriggling around on the leather sofa by the window.

"I have a private room ready for him in St Mungo's," he said, causing Hermione to make a whimpering sound into the hanky.

"We'll have him," Harry said, insistently, "we'll make our spare room cosy and peaceful and me and Ginny will take care of him."

"He's going to hospital, Harry," Kingsley insisted. "He needs potions, he needs sleep and mood stabilisers an-"

"He does _not_ need stabilisers, he can ride a bike already!"

"Harry," Hermione composed herself and gripped his forearm, "he needs Healers."

"But he's not..._hurt_," Harry said, unable to understand why anybody else could take care of Ron better than they could.

"Madam Pomfrey," Hermione blurted, "remember? She said that thoughts can do more damage, they can take longer to heal, they can leave deeper scars."

"But this is different. He's just upset. He's tired and upset and he needs to be with us."

"Have you seen Ron's thoughts, Harry?" Hermione said, sitting up straight and fixing him with her fiercest runny nosed glare.

"What do you mean?"

"I can only guess what he's doing to himself while he's just laying there for hours on end, staring into space," she paused to swallow, "but that locket picked on him. We all had it for equal amounts of time, yet it picked on him specifically."

"I can't tell yo-"

"I know you can't, but tell me this, do you know why he'd get upset about a Bedouin Healer telling him he can see blackness in his heart?"

Harry's face paled.

"They didn't say that to him did they? Not those words."

She nodded.

"I...I can still do it. I can make him listen."

"Yes, you can," she agreed, "but he needs to see a Healer before he can hear you. He wouldn't even hold Rose. He thinks he's like a Dementor. He's got a Dementor in his head, Harry. He won't be able to hear you."

Harry shivered at the idea of being possessed by a Dementor. He glanced over to the two babies again and then walked towards the sofa.

"Which one is he? He's in the Cannon's outfit, yeah?"

"No, that's Rose," Hermione sniffed. "I put him in the baby grow."

Harry picked the baby Ron up and cradled him in his arms.

"This is so weird."

"You're telling me," Hermione said as she rubbed her forehead, wearily.

"I'll take him to the hospital," Harry said, turning towards her as one of the baby's hands reached up towards his face and the little fingers made grabbing gestures, "you take Rose to Ginny and maybe if you want to rest y-"

"I'm coming straight back to St Mungo's," she said with determination. "You'd better be quick, he's due to change back any time now."

Harry nodded and carried Ron to the fireplace, just as the baby's eyes started to turn blue.

"St Mungo's!"

The green flames swallowed them up and they were gone. Kingsley sat beside Hermione and put his arm around her.

"He's going to be all right, Hermione."

"Please don't send him away again," she said as she leaned into his side.

"That was the last time, just like I promised," he said in deep, soothing tones, "let me get Percy to escort you to Harry's house and back to St Mungo's."

"No, I'll be fine," she said, wiping her eyes one last time.

"I know you will, but Percy's going to be standing outside my office wanting to be given something to do. Let him do this."

She nodded. Kingsley got up and left, yanking the door out of the wall and then dragging it back into as much of a closed position he could get it to rest, while Hermione looked across the room to her daughter. Rose's legs were waggling and she was trying to roll over to where the other baby had been beside her.

"Come here, you," Hermione said as she picked the baby up, "other Rosie's gone away now. Daddy will be back soon. I promise."

---

It was dark when he woke up.

His head felt as if he was wearing a huge helmet full of water and a slight tilt of the head caused his whole body to be pulled over in that direction. His half arsed attempt to sit up led to him falling onto his side on what looked like a single bed.

He peered around and then squinted as the darkness was banished by the ignition of candles all around the room.

He was in a room about the size of the spare room at Hermione's parents' house, where they stayed overnight every other Christmas Day. There were little things around him, like chairs pulled up to the bed, magazines and a bin full of pasty wrappers and empty drink bottles, that gave away his location.

He was in a hospital room. The trolley at the door wheeled itself towards him and he held his head as he tried to sit up again.

"Back down with you," a soft voice said as he was guided back onto the pillow by a witch in St Mungo's Healer robes.

"Mungo's?" He asked, voice rough.

"Yes, nothing to worry about," she smiled.

"How'd I get here?"

"Nothing to worry about," she said again and held up a large spoon, it looked like a ladlespoon, the Mugglle equivalent being three tablespoons, of potion. "Open up."

"Wassit for?"

"You're feeling hungover aren't you?"

He nodded, winced, and held his head.

"The sleeping and relaxation potions you've been on have a high alcohol content. You need to take this to lighten your head."

"Hangover cure's been invented at last then eh?" He smiled weakly.

"Not yet, if ever," she shook her head and chuckled, softly, "this will send you to sleep again, but it'll let us talk for a moment without you feeling sea sick."

He sighed and grunted as he tried to sit up enough too take the spoonful of medicine. The witch helped him and then held the back of his head still as he drank it down. It tasted like honeysuckle smelled. His sloshy head drained of the imaginary liquid and he pushed himself into the sitting position with a relieved sigh.

"Am I on my own?" He asked as he looked around.

"No," she smiled as she put the spoon back onto the trolley, "your wife is here all the time apart from when your brother in law forces her to go home to see your daughter and sleep."

"Brother in law?" Ron frowned.

"Auror Potter."

"Oh yeah, he's that." Ron rubbed at his eyes and yawned.

"Now you've got a side effect to all these potions, an involuntary need to chatter. I know you don't want to talk but everything you think you say out loud. I have to ask you some questions while you understand that, all right?"

"I don't get a choice," he said, moodily.

"No, you don't, but I didn't have to tell you either, so don't be cross with me."

"I don't want questions," he said.

"You're falling asleep on me already so we have to be quick, I'm sorry."

"I'm not." He yawned and his eyelids drooped as he protested.

"You've talked to me between potions before, don't you remember?"

"I've only just woken up," he mumbled.

"You've woken up twice before and we've done this twice before. It was always just you and me, privacy matters most to people who have locked themselves away inside their own heads, and this will be the last time. Wake up, stay up for your questions," she patted the side of his face as she spoke.

He'd just realised that his head was lolling and his eyes had drifted closed. She lifted his chin to force him to look at her.

"You've been here for four days now, Ron."

"Wha?"

"You told me there was a Bedouin who was trying to possess you. He said you had a black heart and he was going to do something horrid, do you remember that?"

"Tha's not true," he slurred and shook his head.

"You told me the Ministry in Nakhchivan were killing everybody you went near. You said you were killing everyone. Remember that?"

"Leave me alone," his head flopped forward again.

She caught it and lifted it to force him to look her in the eyes.

"The Foreign Minister here is lazy and corrupt and hung you out to dry, remember that?"

"Geddoff."

"Ron, I believe you," she said, firmly. "You're not mad, you're not lying and you're not wrong."

His eyes opened just a little more.

"You misunderstood the Bedouin but everything else...your mind was sharp and spot on. You were right."

He sighed and his head dropped suddenly as he was being enticed away by waves of sleep lapping at the shore of consciousness.

"Look at me," she said, firmly, "those doors we've opened having these chats, can you leave them open when you go to sleep?"

"No."

"Leave them open, sleep with the doors open, can you do that?"

He shook his head and she had to catch him as his whole body slumped to one side.

"Ron, can you promise me to leave one door open, a safe door that only somebody you trust who's already inside can step through to talk to you?"

"I don'wanna."

"I'll let you sleep if you leave one door open. Can you leave a door open?"

"Mmm," he nodded and closed his eyes.

"One more question, come on you," she pinched his earlobe to jolt him awake a little more, "if I told you that Auror Potter told me to get you to think of the word locket as you chose which door to leave open, would you know what he meant?"

Ron tried to roll away from her, brow furrowing.

"Locket Ron, do you know why Harry wants you to leave that door open?"

"Uh huh," he said, trying to push her away.

"Will you speak to Harry when you wake up? Will you leave the door open so Harry can come in and talk to you?"

Ron's breathing evened out and his body began to relax back into sleep.

"Answer me, Ron!" The witch demanded.

"Yeah," he murmured before being swallowed up by the side effects of the potion.


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 10**

Ron had kept his eyes closed as he felt the weight of another body joining him on the mattress. He was used to Hermione climbing on beside him, sometimes Rose being placed next to him to bat at his face, and the occasional family member leaning over to try to talk him into having a conversation or something to eat with them.

This person wasn't saying anything. He thought it might be Hermione, only she would be closer or touch him to let him know she was there, and he soon felt strange enough to open his eyes.

Harry was staring back at him.

Ron immediately felt uncomfortable. He fidgeted and then rolled over to face the other way.

"See, now we're spooning and I could get thrown out for improper behaviour with a traumatised patient." Harry's voice sounded calm and neutral. "Imagine the Skeeter book that'd come out off that."

Ron pulled the sheet up to his chin and closed his eyes again.

"You've not been asleep for ages. Do you close your eyes because you want people to think you are and go away or do you do it because you prefer it?"

Still he said nothing.

"Okay then. I'll lie quietly like you. Just give me a nudge if you want me for anything." Harry closed his eyes and lay beside Ron for the next hour.

When the clock chimed four in the courtyard outside, the weight lifted from the mattress and Harry left without a word.

The next day, at the same time, Harry climbed onto the bed and lay beside Ron. He stared at him for a quarter of an hour until the blue eyes opened. Ron sighed and stared back for a short while before closing his eyes again and lowering his head so Harry was left looking at his crown.

"If I still knew Parseltongue I'd ask you to open up," Harry said, with a sigh, "it's the last thing I've got in my repertoire, other than cracking your skull open of course."

Ron ignored him.

"It's not exactly the ideal way to see what's going on inside your head is it?"

"Go away," Ron said, barely audibly.

Harry got up immediately and pulled the covers straight, then leaned over and whispered 'see you tomorrow' and left.

Ron looked over at the door after he left and heaved a deep sigh. There was a cracking sound and he jumped as Kreacher peered at him over the side of the bed.

"I bring young master Weasley food?"

Ron shook his head and lay back down again.

"Kreacher will leave a tray next to sir's bed for later."

Ron said nothing.

That night a Healer came into the room with a dose of potion to force him to sleep through the night so he would be awake during the day. He sat up as the bed pushed him up, drew his knees up to his chest, and watched the potions being poured. He glanced to the tray of sandwiches and pasties beside his bed and felt incredibly hungry.

"If you eat at least two of those items I won't make you take any potions," the Healer said, noticing the direction of his gaze.

Ron nodded and reached over. He ate four sandwiches and two small pasties, one Cornish and one pumpkin, before drinking two glasses of Gillywater and then rolling over to sleep.

In the middle of the night he woke to the sensation of his wife and child climbing into bed with him.

"I miss you," Hermione whispered.

Rose was placed against his chest and he moved his arms around her, protectively, to stop him rolling onto her or her getting nudged off the bed.

When he woke, both his girls were gone, his dad was sitting beside him, reading a paper, and a cup of cold tea was set on the bedside table. He closed his eyes again until he was alone and then crept to the toilet and back.

The afternoon came and Harry came with it. He lay with him on the bed and Ron sighed, wearily.

"Blink if you can't cope with me talking to you today," Harry said.

When Ron blinked, he pushed tears from his eyes. Harry hugged him and didn't say a word for the rest of the visit. When it was time to go home to his family, he whispered goodbye and shuffled towards the edge of the mattress to slide off the bed.

After a week and a half Ron was sitting up and eating his meals before curling up onto his side and staring past whoever was talking at him. George was barred from the hospital after being thrown out for shouting and swearing at him, he couldn't cope with the silence and went for a reaction the only way he knew how. Ron had stolen a sleeping draught from the trolley as his Healer checked on him at lunch time and he'd slept for fifteen hours straight.

When he woke up, feeling like he'd been sleep jogging and utterly exhausted by rest, Harry was laying beside him and staring right into him.

"I know exactly how you feel, you know?"

Ron stared at him and didn't say a word.

"Most of the things we go through we can only imagine what it's like for the other. This time I know. I've been through it and I know, Ron."

Ron swallowed and fisted the sheets tightly beneath his chin.

"Over and over again, people dying for me or because of me or instead of me. People dying around me. People getting tortured and hurt. Children orphaned, sons murdered, my friends getting attacked."

Ron stared at him.

"I tried to go it alone and people wouldn't let me. People would fight me so they could stay with me. I'd try to leave to protect everybody I loved or I'd try to leave to fight for revenge. I'd try to leave to spare everyone around me and you and Hermione wouldn't let me do it. You wouldn't have any of it."

Ron closed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath.

"Sirius is dead because of me, not just what I did but because I exist. My parents are dead because I exist. Cedric Diggory, Moody, Dobby... You jump in and put me right, you tell me about all the people who are alive. You tell me Ginny is alive because of me and then I throw back that she'd never have been in danger if it wasn't for me in the first place. She got that diary because I created a scene and put her in front of Malfoy."

Ron kept his eyes closed and waited for Harry's rant to work its course.

"The whole reason you're head's fucked up is because of me!" Harry snapped.

Ron opened his eyes and stared at Harry again, shocked.

"What was the key thing he used against you? Your mum prefers me, you're not as good as me, Hermione chose me. I'm the reason you're sick. I'm the black shadow in your heart. I'm-"

"Shut up," Ron hissed through clenched teeth.

"I know how it feels for everything to be my fault!"

"People got executed, dozens of people in one day, because of me. People are on the run because I dragged them into things and then left them without protection." Ron was almost snarling at Harry as he spoke. "I got a virgin school teacher raped and forced to be a fucking prostitute because I took her to piss powerful men off in their own language for me!"

"People who never had a fighting chance, took a chance to fight," Harry said, determined not to lose Ron now that he'd started talking.

"Hermione couldn't even make a Patronus. I've made her so miserable she can't even..."

"She's miserable because you're killing yourself! You're trying to be dead inside and it'll never work because you can't switch off. Look how hard you've tried to become catatonic and you can't do it. You can't do it so stop. Come back and fight and love and offend people you should suck up to and be the reason Hermione's Patronus comes to life!"

"I don't wanna have to keep...I don't wanna ruin any more...I don't wanna..." He shook his head and curled up on the bed again.

"_They_ are murderers!" Harry growled, shaking Ron's shoulder, hard. "_They_ are corrupt. _They_ are torturing and terrorising and demoralising their people. Your friends from the farm, they got that old woman back, she was released because of you."

"She was arrested because of me!" Ron's hands formed tight fists around his crumpled sheets.

"She was arrested because she looked for help. She'd have gone to somebody corrupt and it would have been worse for her. You gave people a good man to go to. You got a whole community not to attack each other for money. You got Greece mounting an offensive manoeuvre against the bastards. You got other diplomats getting off their backsides and making a difference. You got people to grow a set of balls and back you up. You got..."

"I got my family trapped in a house with no Floo, so miserable we couldn't make a Patronus to ask for help, and doing nothing for a week," Ron ranted, "and what came of that? I almost started a fucking war! There was going to be a war because you didn't get a Floo from me. Don't tell me none of this shit is my fault."

"They weren't going along all happy before you came along. They were miserable, hurting, persecuted and now everybody knows about it. You let the world know what was happening."

"Yeah I let the world know that, by forcing a trial for people who might have just done a few years and then been let go, but because I made a show of them every last one of them were killed. Some of them were probably forgotten and I pointed them out and got them executed!"

"And they aren't forgotten now! Their life made a difference, an impact, you made them feel as if somebody cared."

"My caring was a curse."

"Then why did that total stranger help you escape?" Harry shouted back.

Ron clenched his jaw and forced his eyes tightly shut, breathing heavily through his nose.

"_I_ am the reason people died through my whole lifetime. _I__'__m_ the reason the world was a shitty place to live in. I wanted to crawl under a rock and die and you dragged me out of it and helped me. There was a time when this Ministry was never going to have a hope of being anything but a terrifying dictatorship but because you and Hermione kept pushing me on, our kids have a decent life ahead of them."

They were both fuming at each other, silently, for some time. Harry leapt up and began to pace.

"Get up. I mean it, get the fuck up!"

"Go away."

"GET UP!" Harry bellowed down into his face, furiously.

"What for?" Ron said as he sank further down under the covers.

"Because you're the man who didn't have to lead the most frightened people in the country to their deaths to make it a safe place. I had to, you didn't."

"You were meant to."

"And you chose to. You're so much better for that. You still tried even though you knew you'd fail."

"And why should people die for a failure?" Ron cocooned himself within his bed and closed off from Harry's loss of control.

He didn't flinch when Harry yelled and tore the room apart and threw his chair out of the window into the courtyard. He didn't react when he was forcibly removed from the room. He didn't resist when he was moved to another room and given a sedative.

He drifted off with his own words ringing in his ears.

_...why should people die for a failure?_

Hermione stepped into the small room to visit Ron and froze at the sight of him, fully dressed but barefoot, sitting on his bed with his legs dangling over the side.

"Hi," he said, looking a little like a dog waiting to get told off for doing a poo on the floor.

She bit her lip and failed to restrain herself from running at him. She clattered into his chest and crushed his body tightly with her hug. His hands patted her on the back and soon she leaned back to look at him.

"Hello," she croaked, clearing her throat and then trying again. "Hello Ron."

He'd been out from his sedation for the best part of a day and she'd expected him to be groggy, curled up on his side, or pretending to be asleep. He was dressed. He was sitting up and dressed and smiling an embarrassed smile at her.

"Can we go home now?" Ron cringed as he spoke, as if expecting her to tell him no.

"As soon as you put your shoes on, yes," she laughed, shakily.

"I lost them," he said with a shrug, "maybe left them behind when they changed rooms."

"Never mind," she said before grabbing him and hugging him tightly again. "Oh God, I missed you."

"I'm sorry," he said into her hair.

"It doesn't matter." She hung around his neck like a pendant and gazed up at him. "Did talking to Harry help?"

"I talked to Harry?"

She smiled, sadly, and nodded.

"You had a blazing row with him and he smashed up your room. That was why you moved, remember?"

Ron shook his head.

Hermione stroked his hair and then his face and finally rested her palm flat upon his chest. She sighed deeply.

"Whatever got you to feel better, I'm so glad you do."

"I've decided something," he said, wincing ever so slightly as if expecting a bad reaction to what he was about to say, "I got out of bed because I'm gonna...keep...on."

"That's wonderful, we need to carry on, you're right."

"Not carry on, not like get back to normal as if nothing ever happened," Ron shook his head. "I need to go back and finish. If I finish it and still fail then fair enough, we lost the war, but if I start one and then bugger off to cry back at home then..."

"Then the bad things that happened to people really were all for nothing," Hermione completed his sentence.

He drew in a deep breath and nodded.

"Are you going to scream at me?"

"No," she took his hand, "I have faith in you and I only took you out of there because you were in no fit state to stay."

He smiled at her.

"You still aren't, you know?" She added. "I'll support you on whatever you decide but only if the Healers clear you as fit."

"Definitely," he agreed, "no point running back and finding Jal dead and then having another breakdown."

She chewed on her lip and narrowed her eyes.

"I said find him, if I don't find him it can only mean he's safe. That's what I'm telling myself, anyway."

"That's a good way of thinking about it," she agreed.

"But not kidding myself either," he looked down at his hands, squeezing hers.

"You can't change the world," Hermione said, looking into his eyes, "but you can be the man who gives a leg up to the person who does, and that will mean you were never a failure and those people suffered for a cause."

"That's what I need," he said, nodding desperately, thankful that she understood.

"I'll get you some shoes and socks and then we'll go home," Hermione said as she kissed his cheek.

There was an easy little routine to fall into.

Ron would get up and get dressed, play with Rose, eat breakfast and drink lots of tea while studying papers and maps and the reports that were being sent into the still vacant Foreign Minister's office, go for a walk with Hermione and Rose in the park, go to his appointment with his Healer, sit in St Mungo's cafe for lunch with Harry, go to his mind cleansing appointment, go home to play with Rose and put away all the notes he'd left on the table.

Then Rose would be fed and changed and settle down for a nap.

Hermione would curl her arms around him and rise up on her tiptoes until he almost snapped his neck in two bending to meet her in a kiss.

"I love you," she said before pushing him into a backwards walking kiss until she could force him to sit on the sofa and then climb onto his lap.

"Every day," he smiled against her mouth, running his gentle hands down her back until he was cupping her arse, "you should have seen my Healer's face when I told him we do it every day."

"Jealous?" Hermione said as she nuzzled into the side of his neck and gripped his round shoulders.

"Maybe," Ron said, shifting a little beneath her weight and then sliding his hands back up her body until they were pushing under her shirt and stroking against her skin, "he asked if we were trying for another baby. Couldn't imagine that we actually needed to have sex every day because we wanted to."

She kissed his smiling mouth and tousled his hair with both hands. Their lips began to swell with the force of their kisses. Hermione pulled back, licked her puffy wet lips, and looked down at him with pupils so large she looked a little surreal.

"Do you want to?"

"I always want to," he said as he started to unbutton her shirt.

"I mean try...do you want to try...for another baby?"

He paused and stared up at her.

"You told me you were going to kick me in the balls if I ever suggest-"

She clamped a hand over his mouth to cut him off.

"I said that when I was grunting and sweating and a human being was forcing its way out of my body. Now I'm saying this."

Ron pulled her hand away from his mouth and kissed her palm before staring up into her face.

"Would it be a good idea considering I'm still under the Healers?"

"You're under me," Hermione said, before leaning in to whisper into his ear, "and I know you're fit to be a father, you always were."

"I'm not going anywhere, y'know? We don't have to rush."

"I know that. Compared to everybody else in your family we're slow to do everything." She paused to pull at his earlobe with her lips. "Slow to get engaged, slow to get married, slow to have our first child..."

"That's my fault," Ron said as he slid her shirt off her shoulders, "I've always been a little slow."

Hermione roughly pulled his t shirt over his head and threw it aside.

"So let's make another baby," she set to work on unfastening his jeans, "the _slow_ way."


	11. Chapter 11

**Part 11**

They had their new Italian Diplomatic Auror setting up home in the vacant British Auror's residence. He was, most likely acting, ignorant of what had gone on and was helpfully offering to hand the things left behind to his escort party to transport back to London for them.

The Polkovnik smiled and nodded at the politically motivated goodwill gesture. The Italians were clearly not going to rock the boat in Nakhchivan, but also wanting to make it clear to the British Ministry that they were allies and happy to help them when it came to the 'Weasley scandal'.

The escort party had carried the trunk and other items through the fully functional international Floo in the Italian Auror's residence, and the young man began to perform some spells to get he smell of baby out of the place.

The Polkovnik had been watching the goings on between the British Ministry and Italian residences' fireplaces but there had only been a token thank you from a disinterested looking British Minister while a bespectacled Auror watched from an observation porthole in the Floo as the Polkovnik himself was doing.

The Italian had done some sucking up to the British government and the withdrew with a smug grin and a flourish. Both British men rolled their eyes and disappeared.

The Polkovnik wrote a brief report on the exchange and then added a runic symbol on the corner of the man's file. This designated him not to be a troublemaker but not to be counted on to preach compliance to others if they stepped out of line like Weasley had.

The American had made his little show of independence but he'd fallen right back into his non disruptive ways again and was doing exactly what his governments on both magical and Muggle sides wanted from him.

The Italian retraced his steps to the Ministry building and then laughed and joked with some familiar diplomatic faces before greeting his Nakhchivan official warmly and then being taken on a small tour with the promise that they would find somebody in Nakhchivan who could speak Italian.

"As long as he say zucchini and not courgette, I happy!" The amiable man said.

He was clearly desperate to put on a show of just how much he wasn't going to cause them trouble like the last newcomer.

"Who's the loud man?" The Bulgarian diplomatic Auror asked.

"New Italian," Akbar said, as he glanced across at the back of the man disappearing through the door.

"That took time," Muzzy grunted without looking up from his Turkish newspaper, "he leave how long ago?"

"After the British Auror arrived," the Bulgarian said.

Everybody's eyes met and they exchanged a significant look.

"Anyone heard?" Akbar said in a hushed tone.

"Pft!" Muzzy turned the page of his newspaper and slumped further in his chair.

"At least your country helped," Akbar said, flicking at a corner of the page in an attempt to get his friend to join in the conversation.

"Was that directed at me?" The Spanish Auror sat forward and scowled at the small group in the lounge area to the side of the reception of the Ministry building.

"Were we talking to him?" Akbar said to his two companions with an insolent shrug.

"Cast a privacy charm if you don't want people to hear," the Auror said, sulkily, as he sat back in his seat and vanished from sight behind the wing backs.

"Guilty conscience," the Bulgarian said with a smirk.

"If I can hear you so can they," the Spaniard's voice said, mockingly.

The three men looked around and then got up and left the Ministry to find a place to eat lunch and talk in a less obvious place.

"...and there go the Bulgarian, Egyptian and Turkish diplomatic Aurors," a bored sounding clerk acting as a tour guide said as he walked the Italian Auror into the lounge area. "So, this would be where you'd see most of your colleagues during the day. They take breaks here and discuss informal things."

The Spanish man gave a tut and got up from his chair, to leave.

"Oh, somebody is here!" The clerk looked delighted to have somebody to hand his charge over to.

"No," the man said as he set off for the reception area.

"But I have to get back to my desk," the clerk said, sounding put out.

"I have a job too, one I do without a translator," he said, turning to look back at them with a huff, "does nobody in this country speak Spanish?"

"I wouldn't think so, they don't speak Italian!" The Italian man said with a grin and an open armed shrug.

"We have English speakers, Russian, some Tu-"

"English, English, English, they never learn anybody else's language do they?" The Spanish Auror spat. "Do you know how many countries speak Spanish?"

"I know how many international diplomatic Aurors know _my_ language, sir," the clerk said, with an impatient click of thee tongue.

"Come!" The Italian said, stepping towards the surly Auror.

"I have an appointment to get an interpreter," the Spanish Auror said as he gestured towards the reception desk.

"They have none," the Italian man said with a shrug.

"We don't," the clerk confirmed, "the Polkovnik has told us some petty criminals can be released into your custody to be your guides."

"Why is this being told to me by you?" The Spanish man fumed.

"The Polkovnik is a busy man."

"I'm not here on a _holiday!_" The Spanish man shouted before storming out of the building, cloak tails flapping behind him.

"The Spanish, so flamboyant!" The Italian man laughed.

"Yes," the clerk said without amusement, before turning and leaving the new Auror alone in the reception area.

The Italian man clapped his hands together and looked around.

"So," he said to himself, "I just walk into a prison and ask for a slave?"

Looking around he saw nobody was really interested. He sighed, shook his head and walked out of the building. A pair of Nakhchivan Aurors followed him, stealthily.

The Spanish Auror stalked past the three men he'd driven out of the Ministry with his bad mood, as they sat outside a cafe, and blanked them as he made his way back to his residence. The Turkish Auror cast him a glance before sitting forward and finishing his beer.

"So do we go back in now?"

"What's the point?" His Bulgarian counterpart pushed aside his empty coffee cup.

"Let's go to the pole dancing place," Akbar said with a wide grin.

"Ah yes," Muzzy livened up at this suggestion, "if those witches could ride brooms as well as they wriggle up and down those poles the Nakhchivan Quidditch team would be world champions!"

The waitress came to clear the table.

"We have jobs to do," the Bulgarian man pointed out.

"So do these women, we must support the Nakhchivan economy, my friend!" Akbar supported the Nakhchivan economy a lot.

"I have never been to Bulgaria," Muzzy said, sitting forward, "but you seem to be a nation of miserable pendants."

"Pedants," Akbar corrected.

"I said that."

"No, you say pendants," Akbar gestured towards his neck, "like jewellery."

"So what did you say?"

"Pedants."

"That's the same."

"Is not! Pen-dants, Ped-ants, there is an n and a d." Akbar leaned across the table to explain to his friend.

"Another please," the Bulgarian asked the waitress, pointing at the spot his coffee cup had been.

"Pen-dants," Muzzy repeated.

Akbar nodded.

"Pen-dants, that's what I'm saying."

"Yes, and that's wrong!"

"So what are you saying?"

"Oh go to your pole club and leave me in peace!" The Bulgarian shouted at the two of them.

In the nearest holding cells, the ones at the abandoned court room, the Italian Auror was trying to speak to a blank looking Nakhchivan Auror.

"I need translator," he was saying slowly, "and you give me smallest criminal who can do this."

The man frowned and shook his head.

"Ministry said you give me," the Italian mimed as best he could, "English speaker, prisoner who work for me, one with little," he made a gesture with his forefinger and thumb held a little way apart, "crime. Do little thing wrong. Not murderer, understand?"

The Auror stared at him. The Italian scratched his head.

"Speak English?" He called out to the people in the cells.

Some of the people looked up but nobody said anything.

"Get out of cell if you speak English for me," he tried to coax a reaction yet again. "Better still, Italian."

The faces turned away again, the Auror waiting for him to leave looked bored, and the Italian man gave up and set off back to the Ministry to ask for a translator to help him find a translator.

The Polkovnik received word from his surveillance Aurors that the Italian had tried a similar tactic that Weasley had used when he'd gone into the cells in Julfa. He passed this on during his meeting with the Minister for Magic.

"You think he is new man to watch?" The Minister asked.

"I think he talked to London, passed things to London, I also think he's an idiot. I will keep him followed."

The Minister nodded and then went back to signing papers.

"Minister?" The Polkovnik said as he paused on his way out. "The Turk, we know, is an ally. He got them out, they appeared in his country, but what of the other two?"

"As long as they keep to places our people can listen to them, leave them."

The Polkovnik checked his latest memo. Two were in an Auror filled lap dancing club and one was doing his paperwork outside a cafe on his own. Business as usual, if the new man was indeed up to something then they weren't in on it.

"I will return to monitoring International communications."

The Polkovnik bowed and then left the office.

"Ah!" The Italian pain in the neck was back inside the building and calling to him from behind to Aurors on security duty. "I can not get my translator, they don't understand me!"

The Polkovnik sighed and then turned. He looked at the man with narrowed eyes and then smirked.

"I will give you Auror with English," he said before scribbling a memo and sending it zooming off.

The Italian's face fell.

"This is not normal for translators, no?"

"No, but," the Polkovnik tried not to be too smug at the idea that a possible troublemaker couldn't speak to anybody unless he was speaking through one of his people, "criminals are in prison for a reason. You deserve a good man at your side."

The Italian Auror went about his orientation with a man nobody could comfortably speak to at his side and he found himself sitting with the Bulgarian outside a public cafe and losing his positive outlook on his new job.

"So this is all we do?" He asked.

"We do paperwork, present gifts, do more paperwork, and then pretend we don't see corrupt things happening," the Bulgarian said with a sigh, "if we do see them...we don't put them in paperwork."

He closed the file of loose papers he had been countersigning and weighted them down with a sugar bowl.

"Done?" The Italian said, attempting to be bright a friendly again.

"Done that," he said before picking up his fourth coffee, "more to start again tomorrow."

The Italian man gave up and puffed out his cheeks, propping his head up with one hand as his elbow banged against the top of the table.

"Now you look like diplomatic Auror," the Bulgarian Auror said with a nod and a smile of resignation.

He clicked his fingers to buy the man a coffee. The accompanying Auror slouched and looked thoroughly bored.

The Spanish Auror was flouncing back out of his apartment building, broomstick in hand, and broke his stride to back track and stand alongside their table.

"You got an Auror translator?" He said, outraged.

"Take him, I have found English speaker to talk to," the Italian said, graciously.

They both looked to the Auror who looked as if he was being taken for a fool and shook his head with a smile.

"I stay with you," he said to the Italian Auror, then turned towards the Spanish man, "make appointment for English speaker."

"I _had_ an appointment," the Spanish Auror snarled.

"So why did you leave?" The man smirked.

The Spanish Auror stormed away, fuming, and swore in Spanish all the way to the monument of Noah surrounded by magical creatures. There was enough space to take off in any direction from there and it was a popular access spot to every route of the fly zone. He mounted his broom and lifted off from the ground with the spiralling movement typical of the Spanish, kicking out the tail of the broomstick just as he faced his desired direction and zoomed away like a dart.

The green flames in the Polkovnik's office alerted him to an International Floo connection and he hurried towards the flames to plunge his head inside an eavesdrop.

"...az én szívemet is felmelegítette. Gondoltam, nem árt kicsit erősíteni a Kreeteeka-rajongók táborát!"

The Polkovnik huffed and thrust his special notebook into the flames, waiting for more words to be spoken, and gradually a word emerged from the pages.

_Hungarian_

He pulled the international identity catalogue from the flames and disconnected the eavesdropping spell. He didn't need to get his linguistic spell specialists to translate another conversation about the Budapest Seeker's latest match when he was going to be giving them every word that bloody Italian said to decipher by the end of the day.

The fact that the man might just be a typical foreign Auror and not up to anything at all made it almost worse. He hated wasting his time with suspicions of troublemaking behaviour. He liked to know he was onto the right person. He couldn't dismiss the man simply because he was drawing so much attention to himself, however, it could always be a double bluff. If they were working with the British Ministry a double bluff wouldn't be beyond them.

A memo zoomed into his office and the point crumpled against his chest, before falling into his lap. He unfolded it and read that the constantly complaining Spanish diplomatic Auror had flown all the way to Julfa to talk to the Deputy Minister who worked from the building there. Gulubekov was known to speak very good English and have more time on his hands so appointments weren't necessary.

The Spaniard had gone all the way to complain to him that he couldn't get an interpreter and Gulubekov was verifying that he was clear to provide the man with what he wanted.

The Polkovnik scribbled that the bothersome bureaucrat was to be given a nobody with some language skills and told to leave the government to get on with their jobs.

The fireplace exploded with green flames, another foreign accent emanating from within, as he sent the memo on its way. He was back on his knees with his language identification notebook and looked forward to the day when this job went back to that of a menial Auror.

"You want me," the Spanish Auror was livid as he spoke to Gulubekov, "to do my business as a diplomat, in your country, with a _whore_ saying my words?"

"The women of the brothel speak very good English."

"The Italian got here today and he has an Auror!"

"The Italian has an Auror _because_ he got here today. You, we know," Gulubekov sounded weary as he smiled, insincerely at the man.

"So first I'm offered criminals and now prostitutes. You know I am a very well respected man in my country."

"They respect you so much," Gulubekov said with a wide smile and a slap on the man's back, "they send you here."

He walked away, leaving the furious man standing in the foyer.

"You want me to just walk into a brothel in front of everyone?"

"Of course not," the man waved his wand, casually, over his shoulder, "you can use our secret passageway, very discreet."

He was left, masculinity crumbling by the second, alone in the spacious room with the sound of sniggering echoing down the hallways at him, as the Minister and his staff went to the 'officials only' area of the building.

They wouldn't treat him that way if they thought he could be a threat like the British Auror had been. What kind of low opinion did everybody have of his Ministry if this is the way he was treated. It was as if angering the Spanish nation meant nothing to them.

He stormed off towards the passageway and down the stairs into the darkness. He lit his wand tip. He'd gone down the stairway to the cells and not down the secret passageway at all. Prisoners looked at him, squinting at the wand light.

"Hablas español?"

They settled back down on their hard looking bunks and ignored him.

"Do you speak English?"

He saw a reaction from one of the men and moved closer, casting his wand light on the man's face.

"You know what I said."

The man said nothing.

The Spanish Auror looked back towards the stairs and waited for somebody to come and stop him, nobody did. He snorted, he was that pointless, not even a security escort when he stumbled into the cells alone.

"I was given permission to take an English speaking prisoner from the cells this morning." He tapped the lock on the barred door and it swung open. "Obviously you are a little criminal."

"I do nothing wrong at all!" The man snapped as he sat up, glaring at him.

The Spanish man looked at the prisoner and then pointed his wand at his face.

"You need to look different."

The man hugged his arms to himself.

"Too good to be seen with criminal are you?"

"Yes, I am."

The Auror transfigured the man's face and then performed a cleaning charm on it. He pointed the way back out of the cells and then found the right way to the secret passage to the brothel.

"So who you want to speak to?" The prisoner asked.

"Speak when spoken to," the moody man said as they pressed on until they found the stairs leading up to the brothel across the street from the Ministry building.

"There is more to being great Auror than great arrogance," the prisoner said, under his breath.

"What did you say?" The Auror turned on him and stared in shock.

"I saw better man than you do better job."

The Spanish Auror smiled. This unsettled the prisoner, who backed into the wall, fearing a hex by way of punishment.

"You think you know a better man?"

The prisoner lifted his chin and drew in a deep breath.

"British Auror was a better man."

The man's smile grew wider.

"Thanks Jal."

...

...

...

_WHUMP!_

Jalil flung himself at Ron and crushed him with his hug. He started crying and shaking. Ron rubbed his back and did his best to support his friend, despite wearing an unfamiliar body.

"I hear you leave, you disappear," Jalil sobbed. "I try to find out what happen to you and they catch me. I never find out."

"I went home but I came back," Ron said as he stepped back, holding Jalil steady with a grip on both forearms.

"You came back?" Jalil looked at him in disbelief.

"I came back for you," Ron said with a smile.

Jalil hugged him again, sobbing harder than before. Ron laughed, nervously.

"Come on, Jal, man it up a bit." He patted his friend on the back and then hugged him back, grateful that he was alive. "I just have to do a couple of things and then we can fly to the border. The Turks have set up a Portkey right on the other side, we just have to walk across, touch it, and we're in my mum and dad's back garden in an instant."

"What?" Jalil said, muffled against Ron's shoulder.

"I've got the Italians to send one of their best Aurors to create a distraction for us. He's making such a show of himself that they're watching his every move," Ron explained. "They weren't gonna send anyone to replace their old bloke but when they heard I needed to get back in they offered to use their diplomat's arrival to cover for me sneaking into the country."

"But..."

"I helped him move in, I was on the team who escorted him, quick transfiguration and then walked to the Spanish accommodation to Polyjuice into him." Ron babbled, proud of the number of people who had come together for this plan. "Can you believe it? The Spanish are helping me? Their guy's getting treated like shit here and they realised that's how they were with me. Their department set up the swap. The Spanish Auror's staying in for the rest of the day, not making any Floo calls, and doing paperwork so I can go about as him. He'll make a Floo call at a designated time to cover himself and prove that it wasn't really him doing this."

"Ron," Jalil said, pulling pack and looking at him with sad eyes, "I... No." He shook his head.

"Nobody's getting into any trouble for you, don't worry. The Italian's just being the most distracting human being he can be and the Spanish Auror's staying in to work. They've got nothing on them. Officially the Spanish hate me!" Ron said, gleefully.

Jalil clutched at the front of Ron's cloak and looked at him, a doleful expression on his transfigured face.

"I... I can not leave with you," he said, shaking his head and tear tracks shining on his cheeks. "This my home. I know is bad place but... I belong here."

Ron stared at him, slack jawed, then he closed his mouth and swallowed.

"I can't go with you," Jalil said, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

Ron nodded his head, blankly.

"Of course, yeah, you..." Ron turned and walked towards the wall of the underground passageway and then leaned back against it, head down. "I thought of everything. I planned it for weeks. I got so many countries to get together and I got the all clear from the hospital and I... I never once thought... Shit, I'm such a prat."

Jalil shook his head and sniffed.

"You...my friend."

Ron laughed, briefly, then rubbed his head and tried to rearrange his plan in his head.

"I should never have assumed. Fucking hell," he shook his head and then took a deep breath. "Okay, so you're out and you're in disguise. Nobody's even seen you yet, nobody in the cells saw what I changed your face to."

"Thank you for coming back for me," Jalil said, stepping forward and wiping his eyes again.

Ron nodded and kept thinking.

"You've got prisoner's clothes on but the brothel's gonna be covered in men's discarded clothing. Just wander through, pick up anything you fancy, and walk out through the front door. Who's to stop you? You've got an innocent face, a whole new face." Ron kept playing his new game plan in his head, nodding to himself.

"I sorry I can not come." Jalil, bowed his head.

"Get out, get away from 'em, find Simeon and Hasmik," Ron paused to grab Jalil's shoulders and shake him into looking up again, "they're safe y'know? They're hiding somewhere and Hasmik's mother and her other brother are with them. They came looking for you," Ron said with a smile, "isn't that great? They're all safe and they want to find you. You've got your friends..." Ron choked up for a moment and swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"Thank you," Jalil said, clutching at Ron's forearm and squeezing it, tightly.

"Globus hystericus," Ron said to himself.

"I don't understand," Jalil shook his head.

Ron took a deep breath and looked Jalil in the eye.

"I can't ever come back here again, not after this," he said, voice cracking slightly.

"I understand," Jalil said with a nod.

The looked at each other in silence for a moment.

"This is...it," Ron said, "we're never gonna see each other again."

Jalil looked at Ron's Polyjuiced face, laughed and cried at the same time, and held his face with one hand.

"I don't see you now."

Ron pulled him into another hug, this time both of the knowing what it meant, and they stood like that for a heartbeat before saying what pained them to have to say.

"Goodbye Jal."

"Goodbye Ron. My friend, Ron."

They slapped each other's backs and stepped away from each other.

"Can you put your face back when you need to?" Ron asked, looking away and rubbing his eyes.

"Yes, is not a problem," Jalil said as he composed himself.

"Don't go and get caught again," Ron said, before giving himself a bracing huff and rolling his shoulders back.

"I be careful, not let them get me," Jalil agreed.

"So," Ron said, back to business, "grab some clothes, take your pick of what's there, change and...here," Ron handed him a small pouch full of money."

"No, I can not take..."

"I can't change it at home, it's no good to me once I leave, take it." He insisted.

Jalil took the money and tried to brace himself for what they were about to do.

"Just walk right out and keep on walking. Don't look back, don't come back, don't get caught." Ron said firmly.

"What will you do?"

Ron smiled at him, sadly.

"I need to see a Bedouin about a black heart."

Jalil nodded.

"Let him take away," Jalil said, nodding towards Ron's chest.

"I'm gonna try."

They paused again. Ron extended his hand and Jalil shook it.

"Right, go through, get changed, and get out. I want you gone by the time I go in, right?"

Jalil nodded.

"Ron..."

"Go."

Jalil turned and left.

It was the last time they ever saw each other.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part 12**

Ron stepped, softly, along the clothing strewn rug running the length of the floor.

Muffled sounds came from behind closed doors. A woman giggled. A mass of dark ringlets bounced across in front of him, from one room to the opposite, and a translucent material floated along behind them. The door closed on the long robe and the woman had to open the door again and free herself. Her huge brown eyes met his and she smiled.

She motioned for him to join her and then thrust her cleavage forward at him. Ron turned away and kept on walking.

He saw Ministerial robes hanging on one of the doorknobs and glanced up and down to check that the coast was clear. He flicked his wand as he passed and summoned the contents of the pockets into his own.

At the end of the narrow corridor, draped with plush fabrics in rich colours, he turned to head for the front door.

"Leaving without your fun?"

He paused, then turned to look back. Zaliha was leaning out from one of the doors, arching an eyebrow and looking him up and down.

"Men don't come here for nothing."

Ron couldn't drag her into another Ministry humiliation and then leave her to take their revenge again. He played his part.

"No hablo inglés."

Zaliha closed the door, quietly behind her, and scurried up the corridor towards him.

"Ron?" She whispered.

"What? I mean, que? Oh...shit!"

She gaped at him and then dragged him into a side room, closing the door and pressing her back against it as if expecting it to be battered down.

"Look, you can't be seen with me, Zaliha."

"I am not seen, and if I am I am not seen with _you!_" She stepped forward and examined his face. "Who is this you wear?"

"The Spanish Auror."

She frowned.

"Spanish hate you."

"Which is why I didn't think anyone would think it was me!"

She half smiled at this.

"I remember you have Spanish. You have Spanish and you are only man to come here and want to go without sex."

He nodded, realising that a bright witch like Zaliha would notice things being not of the norm.

"You are back," she said, looking worried, "the Ministers say you go back to England. Say you...your head is broken."

Ron sighed.

"They must have had a right gloat," he muttered to himself.

"Say again?"

"Nothing. Look, don't be seen with me. I wasn't here, you saw nothing out of the ordinary and I'm gonna just g-"

"Why are you back?"

"Jal."

"You are looking for him?"

"Found him, set him free, he's gone."

She smiled at him, still looking as if she was attempting to hide the same look of broken betrayal behind her eyes that had cut through him not that long ago, and then stared down at her feet. They were both awkward and remembering their last meeting with sadness.

"I have to go and find the Bedouin," Ron said, pausing to clear his throat, "let him do that thing he wanted to do for me before."

"You need me to go with you."

"No, I can find it." Ron straightened his cloak, for want of anything else to do.

"You can speak our language now?"

Ron said nothing.

"Let me come," she said, stepping closer.

"No," Ron said, firmly, "for the people I leave behind not to get into any trouble after I leave I have to make it known that it was me, I was here, and if I'm working alone then..."

"You won't heal your heart properly," Zaliha finished for him.

"Why would you want to do this for me?"

"Was not your fault, the things that happened to me, I sorry."

"It was and I'm sorry. You don't have to be sorry. You shouldn't be sorry."

"I will take you to the Bedouin, I will talk for you both, and heal your heart."

"Once I go home I can't come back here again, Zaliha."

She nodded.

"Good, this is what I want to hear."

Ron took that as something of a kick to the guts, but one he probably deserved, and he didn't say any more to her as she dressed appropriately for the dust bowl they were about to fly into. She pulled up her hood and led the way out of the building.

Ron made a point of taking off and accelerating exactly the way he'd seen the Spanish Aurors doing all the time, and then cut through the air with Zaliha pressed against his back with her arms tightly curled around his waist.

"It was easier to look into the face of a stranger and forgive you," she called over the sound of the wind.

Ron nodded, a pointless thing in their position, and she clung to him tighter.

"Will you change to yourself for the Bedouin?"

"The Polyjuice is due to wear off pretty soon," he shouted back.

They flew on a little further.

"Do you want me to apologise again when I look like me?" He blurted the question out and immediately wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

He felt her head resting against his back.

"No, you are forgiven already," she answered, "and I think you need to heal in your own body."

They flew the rest of the way in silence.

Ron's cloak cracked like a whip against the air as he began to descend towards the Bedouin encampment. After they landed, kicking up a dust cloud around them, Zaliha ran into the tent of the old man who had tried to help Ron before. Ron ruffled the dust from his hair and realised that it really was his hair. He had emerged from the dust as himself.

This stopped Zaliha in her tracks as she led the old Bedouin man back out through the tent flaps. She stared at him, turned to the wise old wizard, and smiled. She said something to him and the man approached Ron.

He took several shuffling steps towards Ron, saying something to him in what Ron guessed to be a tentative manner. He had to admit that he couldn't blame the man for thinking he was a bit flighty.

"I tell him how you are back for help."

Ron nodded.

"Tell him," Ron began, but hesitated as he wondered if Zaliha would see this as a plea for sympathy.

"Yes, what do I tell him?"

"Um...he was right and I've tried to make it better but if he can help...I'd appreciate it."

Zaliha began to speak to the man again and he stepped forward to take Ron's hand with both of his. He nodded and smiled as he said something.

"He says potions and spells help you live again, but not make any difference to the...the..." Zaliha pointed down at her shadow on the floor.

"Shadow," Ron completed.

"Yes, shadow, you still have a shadow over the heart."

Ron nodded. The Bedouin man placed his palm flat against Ron's chest and said something with his eyes closed. Ron looked at Zaliha but she simply frowned. Then he drew his wand and pressed it to Ron's chest, rocked himself gently forwards and back, three times, and then tapped the wand against Ron's heart.

There was a faint glow, like a failed Patronus, and the man looked very happy.

He looked up at Ron and said something before patting his cheek and hurrying back into his tent.

"So that's it?" Ron asked Zaliha.

"No, he say there is good, good work started already. Heart started to heal. You saw somebody very good when you were at home?"

"I... St Mungo's were great but they didn't do anything to my hear-"

The man came back and held a lit candle in his other hand. He looked delighted to be doing such a strange thing in broad daylight, and pointed his wand at the flame to turn it bright blue. Ron watched this, then looked to Zaliha. Zaliha stared at the flame as it changed back and then waited for an explanation. the man hurried forward and tapped at Ron's heart again, grinning.

"Oh," Ron said before biting back his exclamation and waiting a little longer for the Bedouin to speak again.

"What is it? What mean the blue light?" Zaliha demanded.

"I er..." Ron swallowed. "I was, um, dark once before. I was dark and I had something, our greatest ever wizard gave it to me, and I used it when I wanted to get out of the...dark. It was a blue light and it went in here." Ron placed his hand against his chest and the Bedouin bounced on the balls of his feet and turned to Zaliha for a translation.

While she tried to explain what little Ron had told her, he turned away and stared across the dusty landscape towards the mountains.

His dad had talked to him a lot when he arrived at the hospital. He'd talk and then take out his paper and sit and read. It was always easiest to cope with his dad's visits when he was in his deep, dark hole.

The last time he'd seen his dad before he left hospital, he'd sat down and seen that Ron had his eyes open and was looking at him. He smiled and leaned forward a little bit and whispered, 'You forgot to pull up the drawbridge today didn't you?'

That had been what it felt like. He had a moat around himself and had withdrawn deep into his castle, raising the drawbridge so nobody could get inside, and towards the end he had stopped pulling up that drawbridge.

"Take this off," Zaliha pulled the light cloak, made to look formal in the intense Spanish heat, down off his shoulders and carried it away.

From what he had learned about Dumbledore as a young man, Ron had to assume that he too had shadows that caused him to pull up the drawbridge, and he wondered if maybe he'd created the Deluminator to heal himself.

Maybe he should have tried using the Deluminator to find himself as well as Harry and Hermione.

"Ron," Zaliha was saying as she began to unbutton his shirt, "let him see."

Ron stripped to the waist and then folded his arms, self-consciously, across his unimpressive chest. The Bedouin man touched one of the web of scars coiling around his forearm and up to his bicep. He said something, eyes wide and a fascinated look on his face, and Zaliha translated while looking closely at the scars herself.

"Snakes."

"Tentacles," Ron said, feeling more like an exhibit at a freak show than anything else.

Zaliha's eyes opened wide and she gaped at him.

"_Tent_-acles!" Ron repeated, emphasising the start of the word for her. "Like an octopus or a squid." He made a wavy arm gesture in an attempt to mime tentacles for her.

She laughed and then turned towards the man to speak to him again. While he nodded and listened he followed the path of each scar with his eyes. He saw how one of them ended just beneath his collarbone. The man summoned a small wooden box from the tent and opened it while chattering away to Zaliha as he rummaged through it.

"You ran away when he mentioned your heart before," Zaliha translated, "do you have troubles? Is your heart a worry for you?"

"No," Ron said as he saw the old man dabbing a small brush into a bluish black substance and then painting it onto the scar at his collarbone, "what's he...?"

"So why did you run?" Zaliha tapped the underside of his chin to make him look at her again.

"Uh, he said he could see into my heart," Ron said, then realised that wouldn't be enough for them to go on, "and the last time somebody said they could see into my heart... A dark wizard said he saw my heart and that it was his. He was inside my head and he was showing everything I... He poured my soul out for people to see and he wouldn't stop and he made me want to kill my best friend."

Zaliha looked sympathetic, as if she felt better for understanding what he'd done now, and softly passed the information on to the Bedouin.

The man nodded and muttered, painting what was resembling a snake's head on the end of his scar with the inky coloured paint. Ron noticed that the dried lines appeared more like tattoos, vaguely faded and aged like Charlie's, and he thought about Hermione's reaction if it didn't come off.

"How did darkness get to see your heart?" Zaliha asked.

"What? Oh, it was a possessed object, an evil piece of an evil person." Ron made a gesture towards where the locket had hung around his neck. "I carried it, it rested here, I carried it for longer than I should have."

Zaliha repeated this and the man pointed to Ron's breastbone. Ron guessed he was verifying exactly where the darkness had seeped in and nodded. The man went back to his painting, this time adding the outline of a long forked tongue from the diamond shaped head of the snake and having it almost pierce the skin over Ron's heart.

"Look, what is this snake stuff, because where I'm from sna-"

"Trust me?" Zaliha asked him.

Ron nodded.

"So trust me now," she said, firmly.

Ron heaved a deep breath and puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. He looked up at the clear sky and waited while he was doodled on by the strange old man and his strange old magic.

The Bedouin was talking in a strange way now, as if chanting or almost singing, and Zaliha was soon repeating everything back to Ron.

"The good man gave you light, the bad man gave you darkness, which man gave you the snakes?"

"They're not snakes," Ron said again. "Scars from tentacles, like ropes, burned into me."

"Who burned you?"

"Nobody, literally nobody, it wasn't a person. It was a thing, a brain but not a normal brain, and nobody did it to me." Ron looked down to watch the man drawing the body of a snake along the scar as it rounded his shoulder. "It was me. I did it."

Zaliha momentarily squeezed his hand and then told the Bedouin what he'd said. The Bedouin was moving around behind Ron now, following that one scar around the back of his arm and painting on his snake.

He thought of symbols. How symbols were misused and then tainted by evil deeds and evil men. He thought of the magical symbol the fylfot, an ancient Druid symbol that he'd grown up with all his life, and how it meant strength and good luck and spiritual victory and positive things in all cultures and countries. Hermione has seen it on the spine of several books in the library and been appalled. Anthony Goldstein had to be taken to one side by a teacher for a full hour in class once. It turned out that Muggles called the fylfot a swastika and it was a symbol for evil and murder and the worst people in their world.

It was only after Hermione did some research that she realised that it was the same positive symbol in their world too. Things called Boy Scouts used to sew them onto their uniforms. It was only because a bad person who did bad things used it as his symbol that people thought of it as a representation of evil.

Ron and Ginny had laughed and said something about how it was like people thinking the pentagram was evil because one madman wore it while killing someone. There had been much laughter from everybody except Hermione, Harry, Dean and Seamus, who informed them that the pentagram was something they had to hide when they were back at home in the Muggle world. Seamus' mum and dad had a real fight about it when they were first married, apparently.

Then Ron thought about the reaction Krum had had to Luna's dad wearing the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. It was like a magical equivalent to the swastika. Because of what was done by one man who displayed it, it represented the actions of that man and not Hallows at all.

What did he think when he thought of snakes?

He thought of Slytherin, of their badge, their banners, their symbol everywhere and the way they treated people who didn't wear it. He thought of Parselmouth, Voldemort, Basilisks, and Nagini murdering people...attacking his own father. He thought of the snake symbol on that locket.

Was it the snake that made things evil, or just the evil misrepresenting the snake?

He'd heard about Snake Mountain and thought 'Death Eaters' instantly.

"Take off your boots," Zaliha was speaking directly into his ear, snapping him out of the depths of his contemplation, and he looked around like somebody who'd just nodded off for a second on the train.

The old man was finishing off the tail of the snake at his wrist, Ron flinched as he realised that he'd stood there long enough for the wizard to have painstakingly painted in every detail of an elaborate snake all the way around his arm, following the journey of one of his scars from beginning to end - or vice versa.

"Wow, that was quick," he said, letting the Bedouin man turn his arm so he could complete the curl of the tail on his wrist.

Ron could see his veins behind the wet ink, he stared at the brushwork as it dried.

"Ron, boots," Zaliha reminded him.

"Right," he said before shaking his head to clear it and then sitting down on the dusty ground to wrestle off his boots.

"He will take you up to the mountain now, just two of you, he will help you." Zaliha looked from Ron to the Bedouin and then took the boots from him and carried his things into the tent.

The flaps fell closed and the older man smiled at him.

"Mountain then," Ron said, nervously, pointing across the desert towards their destination.

The Bedouin man picked up a bottle of something that looked like a spirit. It wasn't anything he'd have seen in the Nakhchivan bars, however, more like George's attempt at making home brew Firewhisky, and he took the jot that was poured for him in a tiny egg cup looking pot. He gave it a sniff, braced himself for it being strong and tasting rough as hell, and then downed it in one.

He dropped the small pot as he lost sensation in his fingers. He felt as if his blood was freezing solid. It was as cold as a Dementor's embrace. Everything was plunged into darkness, like the Hogwarts Express speeding into a tunnel.

He remembered a ratty old carpet being rolled out beside him, then him being rolled onto it, and the a cool breeze. He felt weightless, free, and mobile. He felt exactly as he did when he was flying, only he was lying down and wondering why he could feel the hairs on his legs moving.

There was a throaty chanting going on above him, around him, and sometimes it felt like miles away from him. A thin wooden finger would press against his chest and the chanting would become a loud singing to the skies. He guessed it was a wand tip. He felt warmth and icy coldness and always light. There was always the sensation of light glowing from under his skin.

His toes felt cold. He scrunched them up, then shivered. It was like when a Weasley woman ripped the bedcovers off him to order him out of bed. He flapped his arm to feel for the missing cover. He wanted to sink back down into a warm slumber but he could feel nothing but the rug beneath him, moving like it was bobbing on gentle waves. Was he floating or flying? Was he on the water or in the air? Where was he?

He grunted and sat up, looking around and then down at the clouds, and fell onto his back with a groan. He felt drunk and dizzy and totally disorientated. He took in a lungful of air but it didn't seem enough. The air felt empty. He tried to take in another lungful, felt his chest rise and fall, but again it didn't seem as if he'd inhaled at all.

The air was thin. He remembered that sensation from flying the car to school, and again when he'd flown on the Thestral. He opened his eyes and saw the Bedouin man chanting over him. He licked his dry lips and then swallowed, in preparation to speak.

"We flyin'?"

The man carried on chanting.

Just asking the question had taken it out of Ron. He was panting as if he'd run half a mile to ask it. He felt for his wand, then realised he didn't have it. He also realised that he didn't have his trousers.

He gasped, almost straining his lungs and passing out in the process, and forced himself to sit up. He looked down at his body and thought he must be hallucinating.

Just as Ron was going to ask why he was wearing nothing but a small handkerchief, the floating sensation beneath him became a hard and uneven surface, and he fell flat onto his back. The Bedouin wizard was still chanting and waving his wand in large sweeping circles over his head.

Ron caught his breath. It was easier to do now they were stationary. He came to his senses enough to understand that the air was now thicker and richer. He could almost bite it.

"It's the mountain isn't it?" He rolled onto his side and looked around, drawing in air greedily, lungs full to capacity. "It's got charms on it so you can breathe up here?"

The Bedouin was still chanting. Ron took that as a yes and tried to clear his dizzy head. They'd been without much oxygen during the flight but a charm on the flying carpet had clearly given them enough to survive. Soon enough Ron was able to get to the most pressing issue he faced at that moment.

"I'm wearing a nappy," he said, incomprehensively.

He didn't have a stitch on him other than the thin swathe of white cloth tied tightly around his waist. His hip bones protruded from the top and the fabric gathered a little in front of his groin, around a knot, but when he looked behind himself he saw that his bottom was only barely covered. He was thankful the, what had to be a loincloth, was quite tight because he could have lost the last of his modesty just by sitting up otherwise.

"So the teeny tiny handkerchief," he said as he tried to find a way to sit that didn't make him look like one of those smug Lockhart type pretty boys from the magazines Ginny pretended not to subscribe to, "couldn't find anything smaller...like an eye patch?"

He decided to stand and felt instantly paranoid that parts of him were falling out. He covered himself with his hands, which did a better job than the scrap of cotton, and looked around at the rocky mountain. He shivered and tried to move around on the spot to keep warm.

He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, pausing to examine the painted on snake, and then approached the Bedouin to ask him what they were doing up there.

"Excuse me, but w-"

There was a swirl of blue light, as if the Bedouin was siphoning the colour from the sky into the tip of his wand, and his wide circular movements stopped as the rich blue whirlpool of light was funnelled into the glowing wand tip.

The man stopped chanting, held the wand with both hands, and then turned on Ron with it and pressed the vibrating tip against the head of the painted on snake.

Ron dropped to his knees and felt the icy cold surge of bright blue light pouring into his body via the wand tip. He felt as if he'd just stepped under waterfall in the dead of winter. The sun shone down brilliantly, the blue was sucked from the sky, as if the peak of the mountain was the tip of the Bedouin's wand and he felt something moving under his skin.

Gasping in the way a person does when suddenly plunged into cold water, Ron went into a full body shudder as the painted snake began to slither down his body.

"Oh m-my...Omigud!" He shivered and tried to brush the two dimensional snake away, but it was like trying to wipe off a tattoo with a sponge.

The old man said something to him as he let the last of the blazing sky blue light leave his wand. Ron didn't hear what it was but the sensation of being battered by an icy shower of energy stopped instantly. The man lowered his wand and watched the painted snake travel down Ron's long, skinny body.

"Wossit doin'? Whezzit goin'? Shit!" Ron's teeth were chattering as he spoke, his eyes were fixed on the snake slithering down past his hollow stomach and rippling over the crest of his hipbone.

He desperately wanted to wrap himself in a warm blanket but couldn't stand to cover the snake up while it was slithering down and down and down...

"Geddit off!" Ron shouted just as tip of the forked tongue disappeared beneath the flimsy fabric of the loincloth, tied tightly around his waist.

The snake seemed to react and slithered around Ron's hipbone and onto his back. Ron twisted to try and see where it was going but the flick of the tail as it passed between his pectoral muscles caught his eyes and he flinched and watched the rest of the painted on creature moving down and curving around his belly button before swishing its tail beneath the loincloth as it slithered out of sight behind him with the rest of its body.

Everywhere the snake moved was like an ice cube being dragged across his body. He knew that feeling, it had been more fun when it had been a randy Hermione teasing him on their honeymoon, and clenched his teeth to stop the chattering once and for all. Again he twisted to look over his shoulder but jumped as the head of the snake moved over his shoulder and down the other arm.

"What's it doing? What's this for?" Ron asked the Bedouin as he extended his arm outward, as if this was a preventative measure that would keep the snake from coiling back around his body again.

The man smiled at him and nodded.

"What!?" Ron demanded, exasperated by the lack of communication.

The man took Ron's snake free arm and lifted it between them. He smiled and nodded at it. Ron looked at his arm and gasped. The scar that he had painted the snake over was gone. The scar was the snake. The scar had come to life and was moving all over his body, _under _his skin, and Ron found himself squirming at the thought of it.

The black painted snake was following the tracks of the scars on his other arm. Ron watched, shaking from the icy trickling sensation of the tail of the snake moving up and across his back, and saw that at the end of one scar at his wrist the snake would slither up a new one and make its way back up to his shoulder.

"Is it... What is it doing?"

The man smiled at him, kindly.

His arm was covered with moving black paint, inky patterns sliding up and down in two directions at once, and Ron felt grateful he was on his knees as he was getting a little dizzy watching it.

When the tail flipped around behind his elbow, leaving a faint trail behind it, Ron leaned in close and examined the scar the thing had travelled through. It was still there but it was so faint it was barely visible unless you specifically looked for it. Ron frowned and looked at the rippling bulge of scar tissue beneath his skin as the snake moved across more of the lattice pattern on his arm.

"Is it," he began, stunned at what he thought was happening. "Is it getting bigger, like fatter or...or _realer_?"

The man was still looking happy at how things were going. Ron lifted his forearm to watch the slight rise in his skin. Then the skin was perfectly flat and the long thin bump was moving up his arm and winding around and around like a Helter Skelter in reverse. He turned his arm and watched, fascinated, as the snake stopped being two dimensional and seemed to become real. It was fleshing out into a real black snake only the flesh was his, or at least his scar tissue, and becoming round rather than flat.

His scars were just faded patterns, a slight difference in pigmentation, and he ran his fingertips over them. They felt different, smoother and flatter, and he jumped when the snake's head bumped his fingers up as it passed across to follow the trail of an other scar.

"These were part of the problem?" Ron looked up and asked the Bedouin a question he was never going to understand.

"Snake in heart," the man smiled and nodded, "dark in heart. Dark alive, leave heart, go to snake, snake alive!

"The snake's..." Ron began to panic. "The snake's part of that locket?"

The man pointed his wand down against the mountain rock and made sure Ron was looking at it. Then he smiled and pointed at the shadow the wand cast on the ground.

"It left a shadow," Ron said to himself.

"_Priori Incantatem_," the man said with a nod, to encourage Ron to understand.

"The ghost of the last thing it was doing before I destroyed it," Ron said to himself.

"Take dark," the Bedouin pointed at Ron's heart, then followed the snake with his finger.

The snake had come to life when the surge of blue light had forced the shadow out of his heart. The light powered the snake as it gathered a physical form from his scar tissue. Ron wondered what would happen once there were no more scar trails for it to travel.

The animated drawing was still crawling under his skin like ice, it had completely covered one arm now and returned to lift a couple of the spirals the tentacles had burned onto the back of his neck. Ron closed his eyes and shuddered.

"I had to have a loin cloth for this?" He said as he began to feel very naked again.

He arched his back and giggled as the head of the snake quickly darted towards the start of a scar just beneath his armpit. The Bedouin man took out his bottle of home brew again and began to pour another jot.

"No way, no thanks," he said, shivering and still struggling with the tickling sensation of the snake's body moving along the sensitive area under his arm. "Really don't need to get off my face again."

The man insisted and Ron took the little egg cup sized vessel between his finger and thumb. He took one small sip, rather than downing it in one, this time and felt a warming sensation burning through him from inside.

"That's...different," he said as he looked at the liquid left in the tiny cup.

The Bedouin held up one finger then gestured to the bottle and he mimed shivering.

"Yeah, freezing," Ron nodded.

He held up two fingers and then pointed to the bottle and mimed something that looked as if he'd eaten a very hot curry. Ron laughed and understood. The first one makes you cold and the second makes you hot.

"I'm in a bloody loin cloth, up a mountain, being cold wasn't a problem."

The man was pointing at the snake and then miming shivering again. Ron thought he understood what he was being told.

"Snake's are cold blooded," he mumbled to himself.

He had to be very cool so the snake could come to life, now his body was being warmed up. Ron wondered if this was going to kill the snake.

"I'd really rather not have a massive lump of scar tissue stuck under my skin for the rest of my life," Ron said as the ice cold snake began to wind around and around his forearm and lift the scars away.

The Bedouin mimed to drink and Ron braced himself and gulped the jot of home brew down in one go. He was amazed that steam didn't come out of his ears. He broke into a sweat and fell forward, bracing himself against the rock beneath him with both hands, and locked his elbows to hold himself up.

The snake was so fleshed out now that it looked as if it was going to burst out from under Ron's skin. It thrashed around, angrily, while the heat spread through Ron's body and down his arm towards it. The snake slithered around Ron's wrist and under his palm. Ron could feel the lump under his hand and then a sliding movement.

The cold was rushing past his veins and into his hand, the heat rapidly following it, until finally the lump was gone from under his hand and his fingers felt warm again.

He sat back, pulling his hands away from the ground where they'd been pressed, and stared down at the very real and totally alive black snake slithering away across the rocks.

"Snake mountain," Ron said in shock, "it's got nothing to do with dark magic at all."

"Healed!" The Bedouin man said with a grin, pressing his hand against Ron's heart.

"Really?" Ron couldn't believe that all the crap he'd been carrying around with him had fed on his scars and then literally crawled out of his body and gone away for good.

The Bedouin tapped Ron on the chest and then shuffled over to sit on the carpet again.

"Healed," he said again, with satisfaction.

Ron crawled onto the flying carpet and sat behind him.

"You never know," he said, searching for something to cling on to as they took off, "I still don't get why I had to be in a loincloth."


	13. Chapter 13 and Epilogue

**Part 13**

The broom landed hard, both passengers rolled along the dusty ground and skidded to a halt just feet away from the border with Turkey.

Ron's eyes stung and he sputtered on the dust cloud he was inhaling. Zaliha sat up and blew on the friction burns on her palms.

"You okay?" He sounded hoarse and coughed hard to try and clear his throat.

"Is time," she said before licking at her raw palms and then squashing them under her armpits with a wince, "cross now!"

He scrambled to his feet, drew his wand, and staggered over to heal her hands.

"Go!" She ordered, even more urgently.

"Sizin adınız nədir? Haralısınız?" An angry voice was shouting at them from behind Ron.

He spun around and pointed his wand at the Auror. A thick layer of dust fell from his hair as he did so and the man squinted to try to get a good look at his face.

"Auror!" Zaliha was shouting as she got to her feet and tried to stand between them.

"I can see that," Ron nudged her back with his shoulder so he could stay between them, "I s'pose my watch must be running slow."

"This man, Auror for Spain!" Zaliha shouted as she gripped Ron's shoulder and glared at the Nakhchivan Auror in a standoff with Ron.

"What are you doing?" Ron mumbled.

"He doesn't know who you are?" She glanced up at his hair, it was covered with sandy coloured dust. "You no look red haired."

"Oh, right," Ron stepped forward, keeping his wand drawn of the man who was doing the same, "Hoverkraftimin içi ilan balıgı ilə doludur."

Both the Auror and Zaliha stared at him and blinked.

Ron leaned in close to Zaliha to mutter out of the corner of his mouth.

"What are you going to do? You've been seen with me now?"

"You just say..." Zaliha paused to shake her head as she tried to put together what he'd said into English.

"My hovercraft is full of eels, yes, I know." Ron kept his eyes on the Auror opposite him. "My friend Luna told me it's the one phrase you need to know in any language. No matter where you are or what the circumstances, it'll buy you time."

"Mən sizi başa düşmürəm," the Auror said, shaking his head.

"He say he does not understand," Zaliha translated. "Siz Ingiliscə danışırsınızmı?"

The Auror shook his head.

"You," he pointed towards Ron with his wand, "English?"

"Spanish," Ron answered.

Ron decided to chance it and turned to step over the border.

"Dayanın!" The man shouted.

A spell flashed at the tip of his wand and Ron disarmed him at the same time Zaliha shouted and started talking to the Auror, desperately. The man argued with her and kept gesturing to Ron.

"Zaliha," Ron could step across to safety now, he could see the Portkey, "leave it, he's disarmed, don't cause yourself any troub-"

"Kömək! Aurors çagirin!" Zaliha screamed at the top of her lungs.

"What are you doing? shut up!" Ron said as he grabbed her arm.

The Auror seemed to be pleading with her in the same way.

"I tell him I don't believe he is Auror, he attack diplomatic Auror with immunity. He break law and I call for real Aurors to arrest him."

"Great bluff," Ron said, through gritted teeth, "but I'm _not_ a diplomatic Auror any more and I _don't_ have immunity!"

"He will let us go, he is scared," Zaliha said, "not important Auror. Gets border job. He afraid."

The Polkovnik was about to seal off all International Floos, just to save himself from having to spend the rest of the day on his knees listening to dross, when English suddenly started being spoken from the green flames in his office.

"...they would not get me a translator again. Here are my papers for the week, I have been sitting inside all day doing this. Maybe tomorrow they will give me somebody like they do with the Italian eh?"

The Polkovnik almost dove all the way into the fireplace and out the other end, into the Spanish Auror's lap.

"Excuse me!" the Spaniard said, looking offended. "I know you listen to private conversations but to interrupt..."

"You've been here all day?"

"What else could I do? You were _no_ help!"

The Polkovnik pulled his upper body out of the flames and ran for the Minister's office.

"I wonder what could be wrong with him," the Spanish Auror said, grinning at the Spanish Minister for Foreign Liaisons.

"I wonder why he didn't wonder why we speak to each other in English," the Minister laughed.

Ron looked at his watch. He just had to make a run for it.

"Zaliha, I'm sorry," he said, springy on his toes, ready to have to take off away from them, "this is why I didn't want to get you involved. You'll have to go into hiding like Jal."

"They'll never get me where I go," she said, grabbing him around the wrist.

The Auror glanced at his wand on the ground and Ron took aim at his face.

"Don't do it," he warned.

A light breeze sent dust rolling along the ground, robes fluttered back, and more of the sandy coloured powder fell away from Ron's hair. A ginger coloured lock fell forward before his eyes and he knew it was like a red flag to the young Auror.

"Sizin adınız nədir?" The man said, edgily.

"He asks who you are, wants to know your name."

Ron puffed out his chest and stepped towards the man. He put his wand into its holder and looked down at the fearful Auror's face.

"You want to know my name?"

The Auror was wide eyed as he nodded.

"I am Ronaldo El Greco," Ron said, eyes appearing to flash as his pupils shrank in the light of the desert sun. "Look me up."

The Polkovnik and the Minister were pacing and talking in his office. They raised their voices, they became defensive and then aggressive, and every now and then an Auror would rush in to take another order or deliver a report.

The fireplace in the Minister's office blazed green and the head of Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared.

"Am I interrupting something?" He asked, smiling.

"Minister Shacklebolt," the Minister said, trying to appear composed, "we are not scheduled for a-"

"And we won't be," Kingsley said, handing through official papers with wax seals and signatures on it, "I am withdrawing our official presence from Nakhchivan and declaring relations between our countries as hostile. We have allied with the Greek Ministry and are sealing a deal with the Italian Ministry as we speak. If our alliance receive evidence from any source that you are committing Wizarding rights violations within your country we will investigate by force and oversee an election process. We will enforce the government the people of Nakhchivan choose and our Aurors will recruit and retrain within your justice system before withdrawing."

"This is declaration of war!" The man blustered.

"Minister," Kingsley said with a stern look, "this is an _order_ for peace."

"All because your man lost his mind?" The Polkovnik said, furious.

"Speaking of our man," Kingsley looked at his watch and grinned, "any Nakhchivan citizen who voluntarily leaves with an authorised representative of the British government in the next minute will be repatriated on arrival in our country and any crimes you have committed against them will be brought before the Wizengamot. If found guilty you and any member of your government or Auror department held responsible will be apprehended and imprisoned at the pleasure of whatever country you set foot in outside your own."

The men were both shaking with rage and fear as Harry Potter's head leaned around the side of the fireplace, the place the eavesdropping Auror would usually be for international connections, and he smiled widely.

"Basically, you can't run and you can't hide," Harry said, "you have no option but to do better."

The door opened and a panting Auror stumbled into the office.

"Weasley!" It was all he needed to say.

Harry and Kingsley smiled and vanished from the flames.

The Minister roared with fury and the Polkovnik shoved the Auror aside and ran towards the border control room.

The Italian Auror looked at his watch and smiled.

Leaning over the table, towards the Bulgarian man he'd been bothering all afternoon, he mumbled something that finally made the surly Auror crack a smile.

"I just became the United Wizarding Nations Inspector."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

The Bulgarian sat back in his chair and casually drew his wand, looking at the bored accompanying Auror, and cleared his throat.

"I just became your deputy and bodyguard."

"It was worth not going to the pole dancing club," the Italian man said with a grin.

"Speaking of poles," the Bulgarian rose to his feet and flippantly stunned the Auror as he rose to join them, "we should get Muzzy. It not a good time to be a Turk right now."

The Portkey on the Turkish border activated.

It was night time in Ottery St Catchpole as it arrived on the grass outside the garden wall of the Burrow.

"Ronnie?"

Well of course she'd have stood in the vegetable patch in her slippers waiting for him, she was his mother.

"Ron?"

And of course she'd have been there too, she was his wife.

"Dadadadadadada DAD!"

"Why isn't she in bed?" Ron shouted as he pushed himself up from the long grass, inadvertently kneeling on a gnome.

He got to his feet and brushed himself down, looking at the warmly lit building behind the three bossiest women he knew, and smiled.

"Home sweet home."

Everybody was at the Burrow and food drink and endless conversation went on well into the night. Percy had got quite drunk and leaned heavily against George as he, rather emotionally, slurred how a house full of family and friends celebrating a political victory like a Quidditch win was like a dream come true.

"Its like you _care_ about things," he swayed, "and I _care_ about them too, and we're caring about them _at the same time!_"

"I'll never _caaaaaaare_ enough to attend that dull as dishwater, 'young people in business' conference you keep bugging me about, Perce." George teased.

Ron talked out most of the events of the mission, rocking Rose against his chest, and was fed by his mother during every pause in conversation.

After things died down and people started yawning, Rose was handed over to Molly and Hermione went with Ron to St Mungo's to let his mind Healer look at his arms and examine his heart with some diagnostic spells.

"No problems at all," she smiled, "your Bedouin friend did a good job. Now go home!"

As soon as they fell out of the fireplace into their living room, they started kissing. Hermione pulled the dusty cloak off him and yanked his shirt over his head, too impatient to deal with things like buttons, and then started kissing his chest.

"This is _my_ heart, it always has been," she whispered between kisses.

"You don't have to share anymore," Ron said as he pulled her flimsy cotton top off and kissed her behind the ear.

She lifted one of his arms and looked at it in wonder.

"It's totally different but...it's the same," she said, running a fingertip along one of the faint trails criss-crossing its way around his bicep. "I'd miss them if they were completely gone."

She kissed a vine of freckle free skin all the way up to his shoulder and then slid her fingers into his hair to pull him down to meet her lips.

"You really like them?"

She nodded, nose rubbing against his and eyes falling closed.

"I love everything about you, the scars, the freckles, the inability to gain weight," she purred as she unfastened his trousers and began to slide them down, "the long legs, that tight bum of yours, the... What _are_ you wearing?"

Ron froze and remembered that he'd pulled his clothes on in a rush and left the loincloth on under his trousers.

"Um..."

She pulled his trousers right down to the floor and then stepped back to stare at him.

"You're dressed like a House Elf."

"That's racist...or species-ist, or something!" Ron said as he stepped out of the trousers as they pooled at his feet.

"Seriously, why are you wearing a used dishcloth?"

"The dirt isn't me, it's the desert and the mountain and flying and...stuff." Ron squirmed, feeling self conscious in the flimsy piece of material.

"You had to wear it for the healing ceremony?" Hermione was still staring at him as she spoke.

"Yeah, dunno why but...in fact I don't know who put it on me, I didn't like to ask."

She laughed and then bit her lip. Tilting her head as she stepped forward, she dragged her hands down his chest and let her fingers splay around his waist just above the slither of muslin, and pressed her hips against his.

"Um, what are you doing?"

"You," she leaned around him to look at the tight cloth across his behind, "you're like one of those paintings of old testament martyrs that hang in the galleries."

"Okay," Ron said, sounding unsure.

"It's sexy," she whispered as she hooked her thumbs around his hip bones and nudged his thighs apart with her knee as she slid her foot up his long leg.

"You find Biblical martyrs sexy?" Ron frowned.

"I find you...somehow..._more_ naked."

"But you've seen me naked."

"Not like this," she said, shaking her head and biting her lip again.

"But I'm not _naked_ naked, 'cause I'm wearing somethi-"

"A scrap of nothing covering your modesty," Hermione cut in and brushed her thumb across the fabric hanging between the crests of his pelvis, "just makes the rest of you even more...naked."

Ron swallowed.

"Maybe this is why the old coot had me wear it, he knew mad women found it erotic!"

Hermione's face was almost alight with passion as she smiled up at him and exhaled in that way that made her chest heave and stir Ron's loins into life. Now it was Ron's turn to bite his lip.

"You're Old Testement naked," she said, grinding her hips against his and encouraging his hardening cock into life, "you've re-invented nakedness."

"You're," she said, rocking her pelvis against Ron's in such a way, he had to close his eyes and throw his head back, moaning, "_neo-naked_."

"God, stop saying naked!"

_Epilogue_

Hermione was putting the finishing touches to her pride and joy when Ron arrived and sat in the chair on the other side of the meticulously organised desk.

"My new filing system is almost ready to go," she said, placing a red crescent moon sticker on the corner of three index cards and then doing the same to corresponding folders, "and that's me done for the next six months."

"Just six, really?" Ron pretended to look surprised, but he really wasn't.

"I'll only come back at part time hours, I'll want to keep my hand in after all. Flexible hours while they're very young and then Ginny said she'll take them for three hours Monday to Fr-"

"Six months away," Ron reminded her.

"I know but there's nothing wrong with planning ahead," she said with a bashful smile.

"So what will I be having for dinner the first Monday after Rosie goes off to Hogwarts?"

Hermione tried not to smile at her husband's teasing.

"You'll be cooking for me and I want it to be a surprise so keep it to yourself, my love."

Ron chuckled and idly spun the chair around, staring up at the carved wood panelled ceiling. Hermione struggled out of her chair and put the files into the filing cabinet, then picked up the index cards. She turned back to look at her husband, still dreamily spinning around in the office chair, and sighed.

"So?"

He stopped spinning and planted his feet down on the floor. He looked up at her through his fringe and half winced, half smiled.

"Well, we knew I was gonna lose didn't we?" He gave a one shouldered shrug.

Hermione fiddled with the index cards as she looked at him with sympathy.

"But you should have won."

"Yeah well, elections are great as long as the people who care about what you care about can be arsed to vote," he said, shrugging again, this time chuckling too.

"But I heard the turnout was the best it's ever been for the post of Foreign Minister."

"Yeah, lots of people do care...just not as many as the people who agreed with the campaign to re-elect that twat who should have just accepted his retirement instead of drawing this thing out for so long." Ron's smile faded.

"The old fogies are old, they'll all have to go sometime." Hermione took his hand and patted it with the index cards in hers. "They all voted that way just because they've always voted that way."

"And because they agree that we should only bother with the safety of British witches and wizards and let other countries take care of themselves," Ron added, bitterly.

"But you still have that offer from the United Wizarding Nations, that's a great honour for an Auror, especially one as young as you."

"As mum keeps telling me," he said with a grin, "I'm still a baby!"

"She'll have to come to terms with the fact you're not before this one arrives," Hermione said as she looked down at her enormous belly.

"I think she thinks Rose was conceived during our first time," Ron said with a snort, "isn't it us that're supposed to be in denial about them ever having done it?"

Hermione laughed and tugged his hand to coax him to his feet.

"Let's go and grumble about the old boys network," she said as she moved towards the door to her office, pausing to reach up for her cloak where it hung on the wall. "I just have to give the last of the index cards t-"

"Here," Ron said as he reached up for the cloak and held it open for her to slide her arms into.

"Thank you," she said, waddling through to her assistant who was sitting at her desk. "Right, I'm done, it's all yours. These are the last cards for the new filing system. You can Floo me any time you want to, if there's any problems."

"You trained her yourself, very well, for months," Ron said, rolling his eyes, "now come with me and start your bloody maternity leave, woman!"

"Mrs Weasley? Oh, you're leaving," the undersecretary to the Minister for Magical Law was walking towards Hermione's office with a roll of parchment in his hand.

"Oh!" Hermione flung her arms up and hurried as fast as her condition allowed, back into her office. "I signed it, I did, I have it for you!" She called from within.

Ron shook his head and called through to her.

"Look, I'm gonna save us the smooth Floo, it's gonna be packed out there in five minutes and we'll be at the end of a massive queue."

"Yes, I'll be right behind you, go and put your foot in the grate and wait for me," she called back.

Ron said goodbye to Hermione's colleagues and jogged away to make sure his heavily pregnant wife could have the safest and most comfortable journey home.

The undersecretary watched him go and then leaned in to mutter to the young woman filing away the index cards.

"He lost then. Hardly surprising is it? People don't want a Minister who had a breakdown."

"Here!" Hermione was flushed in the face as she handed over a scroll like the one the man was already carrying. "I knew there was something I'd forgotten. Don't you hate that feeling? I'm so glad you caught me before I left because that would have niggled at me al-"

"Your Floo?" Hermione's assistant reminded her with a smile.

"Yes, going, really am this time!" Hermione leaned over the desk and kissed her assistant on the cheek. "You're going to be brilliant, I know it."

She needed some help to right herself again and both women laughed before she bid the undersecretary goodbye and shuffled off after her husband.

"So, you're in charge for the next six months? We'll be working a lot together." The man looked back at the doorway Hermione had just left through. "Seriously, she must be worried."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, she's about to drop another kid with this bloke and he's not got a good track record of coping with failure. He's just lost another big battle and what's that going to do to his state of mind?" The man sat on the corner of the desk and folded his arms. "He just loses again and again and again, how could you keep bouncing back from that? If I made my name from failing all the time I'd be ashamed to tell it to people."

"Well, you are a lucky man," she said, rising from her desk, "because nobody will ever care to ask you for your name."

"What?" He got up from the desk and stared at her, in shock.

"My name is Zaliha, you'll be working with me every day for the next six months," she grinned and walked towards her new office, "and that wouldn't have happened if Auror Weasley had been a failure."

The undersecretary was dumbfounded, flushing in the face with embarrassment.

"Oh and, whoever you are," Zaliha said as she paused before closing the door on him, "don't ever sit on my desk."

**End**


End file.
